


Whatever I Do (I Do It To Protect You)

by Callioope



Series: Lyra Lives AU [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Lyra Erso lives, Cassian & Jyn meet differently, F/M, Fix-It, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2018-09-22 12:39:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 84,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9607955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callioope/pseuds/Callioope
Summary: When Orson Krennic landed on Lah’mu, Lyra Erso made a choice. She chose her daughter.Now they move from planet to planet, identity to identity, rebel cell to rebel cell, until they wind up at the center of the rebellion.





	1. Lah'mu

> Lyra suddenly pictured the armored figures raising flamers, reducing the house to ash and charred metal while her husband screamed inside… 
> 
> She knew better. So long as Krennic was in control, Galen would stay alive long after the rest of them were dead. He would have no choice but to work for that man until he was old and feeble, until his intellect began to fail him and the Empire determined he was no longer useful.
> 
> — _ Rogue One: A Star Wars Story  _ (Novelization) by Alexander Freed

  
  


Lyra Erso does not have much time.

Orson Krennic is already there, already talking, already luring her husband to a fate that will kill him, if not in actuality then most definitely in spirit. 

So she fishes through her bag, rummaging through the contents. 

“Mama,” Jyn says. Lyra does not look up as she grabs the bundle of clothes and pulls it out of the bag. “What did papa mean?”

Lyra sets the clothes in the grass and looks at Jyn finally. She’s trembling. 

“What, darling?”

“He said, ‘I do it to protect you.’” 

Lyra freezes. 

“Whatever I do, I do it to protect you,” Jyn repeats.

Over her shoulder, across the grass, over the hill, Krennic and Galen still talk. “ _ I have to buy you time, _ ” he had said. “ _ Only I can. _ ”

Her daughter trembles, but she also stares straight into Lyra’s eyes. The girl is strong, but if Lyra does this, what will happen to that strength? What is she thinking, abandoning her daughter? What if something happens? Could  _ Saw Gerrera  _ raise a young girl? Who would that girl become?

She wants to look back over her shoulder, to see Galen one last time, but then she knows if she does, she’ll waver yet again. So instead she shoves the bundle of clothing back into the bag, and she grabs Jyn’s hand, and they continue according to plan. And all the while, she can’t help but wonder, but know, she’s betrayed Galen forever.

Galen, she’s sure, will forgive her. But can she ever forgive herself?


	2. Transit

Jyn still dreams of Lah’Mu.

It comes unbidden, in the dead of the night, when she thinks she’s too exhausted to dream. After a day of training, of learning new ways hide, sneak, watch and follow; of learning how to take a part a blaster, clean it and put it back together; of learning how to wire grenades and build bombs; of learning self defense and hand-to-hand combat, she just wants to settle in her bunk and black out and forget the world exists.

Instead, she dreams of Lah’Mu.

She dreams of running through the hills, her mother dragging her along. She dreams her mother leaves her behind. She dreams of waiting in that cave by herself. And then she wakes, and she wonders what her life would be like if that had really happened.

The Partisans don’t know how to be gentle. They’re tough, and cruel, and they don’t have much patience for mistakes. But Jyn hasn’t made many mistakes in awhile. She delivers messages, she tracks important visitors, she even helped infiltrate a shipping facility recently. There are advantages to being small, and it’s an asset. That’s the trick to surviving with the Partisans: being useful. She’s twelve years old, but she understands that much. There’s been plenty to learn since she left the farm, and she learns quickly. 

She thinks she’s finally learned enough. She’s ready to take on better missions. She wants to spy and sabotage. 

The Empire took away her father, took away her life. So she takes from them, whenever she can.

When she enters the miniscule mess in the hideout where they stay —her mother, Saw, and her, and a few other rebels—it’s late enough in the morning that only her mother is still there. 

“Damn,” Jyn says, sliding in next to her mother. 

Lyra Erso looks at her and drops the crystal pendant she’s been rubbing. 

“Jyn,” her mother chides. Jyn doesn’t feel guilty. They’re surrounded by soldiers day after day and she hears worse; it’s a blessing she’s not repeating those words. At least not in front of her mother.

“I’m late,” Jyn says, as if this is a reasonable explanation, as if she’s explaining the answer to a problem at school (not that Jyn has ever been to school). She doesn’t mean to sound so accusatory to her mother, of all people, but she continues, “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Her mother stares at her, dark eyes and frowning, lips pursed together. But she says nothing. Jyn glances at the clock. It’s oh five hundred. She’s not late; she’s perfectly, reasonably on time.

“Where is everyone?”

Finally Lyra moves, and Jyn’s annoyance fades into slight concern. Her mother places a plate in front of her, and it’s the largest breakfast Jyn’s had in months. She glances up and catches Lyra’s eyes. Worry replaces concern. 

“Mama?”

“It’s time to move on,” Lyra says, leaning against the counter.

“Oh—where to next? Corulag? Lothal? Fashinder Prime?”

Lyra shakes her head. “Klonoid.”

“Klonoid?”

“Yes, Arhul has arranged transit there.”

“But I thought we finished our mission with the Commenor Underground?”

“Yes.”

“But —”

“Eat your breakfast. I’ll pack your things. We leave at oh six hundred.”

Jyn sets down her fork and stares up at her mother. Saw is unconventional, but he’s been like a father to her. In some ways, in the way of  _ being there _ , he’s more her father than Galen Erso. 

“Why? We can’t abandon Saw after he took us in, he needs us, he—”

“He’s already left, Jyn.”

Her mother leaves the room.

#

The world is spinning and it doesn’t have anything to do with the takeoff or the jump to lightspeed. Jyn leans back against the cold wall of the smuggler’s alcove and looks up through the grate above her mother’s head. It’s just a small window, maybe half a foot by a foot. Someone walks by and the shadows shift for a second.

She can feel her mother’s gaze watching her, just a foot away. 

It’s like they’re in the cave again, but now Jyn trembles with rage instead of fear.

Saw Gerrera is long gone, left hours ago, left while Jyn slept. It’s nothing as dramatic as Galen’s departure, his abduction, his surrender, and yet it cuts Jyn more deeply. Lyra says Galen had no choice (her eyes suggest otherwise, but Jyn hasn’t called her on it yet). 

But Saw has every choice. Saw is the leader of his Partisans.

“They were starting to figure out who we really were,” Lyra explains, breaking the silence. Jyn wishes they weren’t holed away in this private space. Her mother wouldn’t say this if they shared the seats in the cargo hold. She’d have had more privacy in public. “It wasn’t safe. He did it to protect us.”

Now, Jyn’s fingers curl into fists. So many people trying to protect her. She must learn to protect herself, if she’s going to ever make her own choices. She must do this above all other things.

“Jyn,” her mother says, reaching out to touch her hand. She slides something into Jyn’s hands: scan docs. Now Jyn looks up.

“What’s this?” 

“Aria and Kestrel Dawn are compromised. The rebels know those names belong to Lyra and Jyn Erso.”

“So. We’re staying with the rebellion, then.”

“There’s a group on Klonoid we can help.” Her mother talks softly, makes sure to pause whenever she hears footsteps, but all Jyn hears is this: there’ll be less combat there, fewer operations. The cell is newer, still expanding, still exploring the limits of their resources, still recruiting. 

No doubt it’s something her mother will prefer.

#

What Jyn does not predict about Klonoid is this: in a smaller group, there’s more opportunity.

She takes to heart the lesson she learned with the Partisans: make yourself useful, make yourself an asset. But with the Partisans, that was the trick for survival. On Klonoid, it’s a trick for promotion. She’s one of few with combat skills, one of few with infiltration skills (and despite how much she grows, she’s still small).

With her spying, they obtain more resources, better resources. And with resources, come more missions. And bit by bit, they take more from the Empire.

#

“I got you something,” her mother says. Jyn looks up from the rifle she’s cleaning. Her mother is holding out a box, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

“It’s your life day,” Lyra adds, softly, hesitantly, like she’s not sure Jyn even remembered her own life day.

“Mama. I’m not a child anymore.” She clicks the last part into place.

Jyn sets aside the rifle and takes the gift. Her fingers hover over the string. Distantly, a decade ago, she recalls opening a present from her father in her bedroom on Coruscant. That was another life ago, another person. Back then she’d cherished every toy. Now she couldn’t even think of a single item she’d want. What could her mother give her?

She unties the knot carefully, taking her time, unfolding the paper. When she opens the box, she sucks in a breath and looks back at her mother. Sure enough, her neck is bare. Jyn reaches into the package and takes out the kyber necklace.

“Don’t grow up too fast.” Jyn barely hears it as her mother leaves the room.

#

She’s fifteen when someone from the Partisans catches up with them. He’s delivering a message from Saw when he spots her. She steps back into the shadows, but it’s too late.

She’s not even resigned when her mother wakes her, in the middle of the night, telling her they have to go. 

The leader of the Klonoid cell doesn’t care who they are, but the Partisan boy revealed her identity in front of several others. Like Arhul, she gets them passage off the planet. She even sees them off.

“You’ve done well for us, Tanith. The Rebellion needs you. I’m sorry it had to be this way.”

“I understand,” Jyn says. She really does.

“So,” Jyn says, as she tosses her bag onto a bunk. At least they get bunks this time. “What are we calling ourselves now?”

#

“Welcome to Dantooine.”

Jyn steps down the ramp; it’s grass and rivers and sky out to the horizon. She breathes in the wind and sees a farm by the sea and a stormtrooper toy dropped in the mud. She opens her eyes.

She’s eighteen years old, and this is her first time at an official base.

Actually, it might be anyone’s first time at an official base. She jumps out of the way as a cargo cart wheels past her; it’s hauled forward, joins a line of carts, a caravan of computers and other equipment, vanishing into the depths of the hangar. 

“What do you think, Liana?”

Jyn turns back to see Wendlyn clambering down the ramp. Such a contrast from Saw Gerrera, Wendlyn smiles as he gazes into the hanger. His brown eyes glint with excitement; his curly hair drifts in the wind. For a brief second, staring at the complete antithesis of Saw Gerrera, Jyn misses him. But then she shoves that thought (that feeling) deep down, back into her cave, and she seals the door shut.

Wendlyn constantly surprises her with his competence. For all his joking and light demeanor, she’s seen him cold and calculating when it matters. If anything, it makes him more dangerous than Saw. At least Saw was upfront about what he wanted and what he’d do to you if you screwed up his plans.

Wendlyn is the reason they’re here on Dantooine. He’s somehow associated with rebel intelligence, and someone named Fulcrum, and so as his more tenured confidantes, Jyn and Lyra have free tickets to this most secret of places, the new rebel base.

“Seems risky,” she says, narrowing her eyes. Under the open sky, the base feels like an open sore, a target.  _ Come find us _ , she thinks. Having everyone in the same place at once is just bad planning.

Her mother emerges, along with the rest of the six-person contingent Wendlyn’s brought, and again Jyn thinks this is madness bringing so many here. 

They follow Wendlyn through the hangar, navigating a maze of ships and cargo and pilots and equipment. Jyn stares at the men and women who’ve also dared to emerge from whatever corners of the galaxy they’ve been fighting in. Is it bravery or foolishness?

Most seem older, weary, battle-scarred, lines around their faces and mouths. Now and then she spots those closer to her age —a boy in a worn leather jacket, dark eyes and dark hair, listening gravely to another man she assumes is his superior; a woman in her twenties doing maintenance on a Y-Wing; another woman, possibly younger than herself, curled on a makeshift chair comprised mainly of spice crates, typing furiously into a datapad. 

Just at the back of the hangar, as they approach the sliding door entrance into the main facility, she spots a man, maybe three or four years her senior, leaning against the wall, hands in his coat pockets, surveying it all. A goatee is just barely forming around his mouth (fluff more than scruff), but he catches her stare and returns it right back; his brown eyes peer into hers and maybe he’s older than she thinks. She doesn’t get any time to evaluate further; they enter the facility.

#

So, they’re being passed around again. The hot potatoes of the Rebellion. Wendlyn has traded them off to some new special force team. Supposedly, it’s some kind of promotion. The rebellion has acknowledged your skill sets. We’ve concluded you’re of most use here. Blah blah blah. 

It’s supposed to be an honor, this transfer.

Only this time, they can’t change their names or start over. 

She knew coming to this base was too risky.

Now she’s in the system as Liana Hallik, and it feels like a coded prison. Why even keep records, isn’t that dangerous enough? But supposedly the base is secure.

At least they don’t know her real name. Perhaps it’s been too long (is ten years a long time? It seems like her entire life) for the name Erso to mean anything anymore. 

At least Wendlyn’s not handing them over “for their own protection.”

At least she’ll finally see more combat.

#

“Kes Dameron.”

She looks up and sees the boy in the worn leather jacket. His hand floats before her and she takes it after several moments, taking her time to set down her fork and wipe it off on her napkin. 

“Liana Hallik,” she says. He sits down next to her, dropping his tray on the table.

“I know who you are,” he says, and she freezes inside. But no, he couldn’t possibly mean it like that, could he? “Heard you’re joining the team.”

“Oh.”

He sends her a winning smile. Somewhere in the galaxy, is there a heartbroken girl pining over him? 

“Where do you hail from?” he asks between bites.

“Oh. You know.” She looks out at the rest of the mess, and people their age are few and far between. And another is coming towards them, that red-haired girl that’d been curled around the data pad, and that had typed in her name  _ Liana Hallik _ , into their system. 

If she’s not careful this will turn into the kids table.

He tells her where he’s from as she glares the red-haired girl away. 

#

“It’s good for you to be around kids your own age,” Lyra says, handing Jyn blaster oil. 

Jyn just gives her a look. She’s eighteen, and she hasn’t been a ‘kid’ in years. 

“It’ll be nice to settle down for a bit. Stay in one place.” 

“Stay in one place?” Jyn sets down the blaster. “What would we even do here? We’re in the middle of nowhere. There’s no Imperials to fight here. No warehouses to loot. No operations to sabotage. What is even the point of this place? We’re just a sitting target, it’ll only be a matter of time before they find us. 

“We’ve done just fine,” she concludes. “Staying in motion means no one can catch up with us.”

She looks away, surprised to find her hands shaking. As she picks up the blaster again, she wills them to stop. 

“Oh, Jyn.” She won’t look up again, but she hears the tears in her mother’s voice. “Constantly on the run? That’s no life.”

“I know,” Jyn says, gulping down her own emotions. “But that’s what we’re fighting for, isn’t it?”

Her mother doesn’t respond.

“We’ll get out as soon as training’s over,” Jyn says. “We’ll take the first assignment out of here.”

“There’s something else I need to tell you.” 

Fighting the urge to look up, Jyn slides the blaster part back into place with a little too much force.

“I’m not joining the special forces team.”

Jyn’s frown deepens.

“There’s a position as a data analyst, under one of the council leaders. Her name is Mothma. I think I’ll be of more use there.”

“More use? No one’s better at scoping out a location than you, you’re—”

“It’s what I want, Jyn.”

Everyone leaves. Or pushes her away. Jyn puts the blaster down. 

#

The dull glow of sunset fills the nearly empty hangar. Jyn sits on a cargo crate, watching the sun’s slow descent over the hills. She could probably do it. She could probably take a ship. Perhaps even the U-Wing she’s sitting next to. A smaller ship would be easier, an X-Wing or maybe a Y-Wing. She could probably fly it. She’s piloted other ships before (granted, with a copilot and a crew), but how hard could it be? 

How hard could it be to go rogue?

Harder than she can admit, perhaps, because she’s still sitting on that crate and the sun has sunk below the horizon and she hasn’t moved.

This fact, this lack of movement, isn’t really something she consciously acknowledges until someone clears his throat behind her.

To be caught off guard just proves she’s already falling into complacency at a place like this. This base. She’d never let anyone sneak up on her if she were living undercover, in a cramped hideout in a city occupied by Imperials.

“Can I help you?” she says, turning around. It’s the scruffy-bearded guy from the other day.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, arms crossed. Who is this guy? Up close she notices the insignia he’s wearing, and while she’s still not quite figured out all the rankings, she knows more pips means higher rank. There’s no way he could be any sort of authority here. And where’s the rest of his crew?

“I don’t think I’m bothering anyone.” She turns away.

“You’re sitting on my crate.”

She doesn’t respond right away. Maybe she should turn the conversation back on him. What’s he doing here anyways, needing access to a random crate in the hangar? It’s not like anyone’s shipping out right now. Not that it’s impossible for a mission to leave middle of the night, but there’s no other activity, no other soldiers packing and gearing up for a mission.

Besides, she’s no chance for escape now if there’s someone to witness it. She frowns and looks back at him.

“And what do you need it for? Going off on your own tonight? Don’t think high command would be too fond of that.”

He glares at her. As if he could will her to move, like some Jedi mind trick or something. (Not that she’s ever seen a Jedi, but her mother has told her stories. Who she heard those stories from, Jyn never asks, but her mother collects them, drinks up any word of Jedis and the Force wherever they go.)

“You’re a new recruit.” It’s not a question. “Move along and I won’t say anything about you breaking curfew.”

Jyn snorts. It’d be easier to get up and go, of course. There’s no purpose for arguing.

Instead she says, “Sure. But I can’t promise I won’t say anything about you going rogue.”

He shakes his head. She can see a fire burning in his eyes, but the rest of his expression is locked, still. 

“If you’re not gone in five minutes, I’ll call security.”

Then he picks up a smaller crate next to her and carries it into the U-Wing.

Maybe he’s on a solo mission. Maybe this could be an opportunity.

Once he’s halfway up the ramp, she hops off the crate and picks up another one. She wonders what’s inside as she follows him.

“Is it a covert op, then?” she says when she joins him in the cabin. He looks up from the crate, scowling, and then he resets his neutral expression. “You’ll need a copilot for this ship.”

“Look,” he says, pushing past her to go back down the ramp. “You’re—what? A leader in your previous cell? Second in command? Used to calling the shots? And now you’ve been recruited for a special forces team. Congratulations, by the way. You want to succeed here? Follow your commanding officer’s orders, and don’t get in the way.”

She follows him down the ramp in outraged curiosity. 

“I’m not here to get promoted or for ambition,” she says acidly. “I’m here to fight the Empire.” As she says the words, she realizes she never was going to leave, and that’s why she’s been staring blankly at the sunset and not already in a ship in space.

“Good,” is all he says. He heaves up the box she was sitting on and turns back to the ramp.

“How did know I was—”

“Lucky guess.” He shrugs. She scrutinizes his face, but it’s still set in that mask.  _ Spy _ , she thinks. He’s lying, but calling him out now might be counterproductive. 

“So what’s the mission?”

He arches an eyebrow but doesn’t look at her. “Classified.”

“You’re going alone?”

He sighs as he sets the box down. “Time’s up. Run along.”

She doesn’t move. He straightens up and turns and stares her straight in the eye. His expression has shifted, to something friendly. He puts a hand on her shoulder.

“You want to know what I’m doing? Want to come along?” She stays quiet. “That’s great. That can happen. But not tonight. Your best service to the Rebellion, right now, is with your troop.”

He stops, still looking her in the eye, and he seems sincere, seems earnest. She’s lied and she’s been lied to, and she knows the signs to look for. He’s staring straight into her eyes. She thinks, most likely, if anything, he’s simply trying to get her to go away so he can do his work. Which is, perhaps, fair. 

“Understood. Sir.”

She turns on her heel and starts down the ramp, just in time to hide the redness in her cheeks. It’s a rebellion, and she rebels—but this is the first time she’s ever felt selfish. 

As she walks back to her quarters, part of her wants to go back, give him a piece of her mind. She’s done nothing but serve this rebellion since she was eight years old. Who is he to dare suggest she wasn’t, that she wouldn’t? But then, she had been thinking about running away, even if she didn’t follow through with it, even if she’d realized she would never follow through with it, that doesn’t dismiss the fact that that’s exactly what she’d been thinking about when she was up there. 

She makes it back to her quarters without running into anyone else, which may be a blessing if scruffy beard is at all right about curfew being enforced.

She kicks off her boots and slides into bed, staying quiet, waking no one. She can’t get his face or his voice or his words out of her head.  _ Who does he think he is? _ she thinks, her eyelids drooping. 

She doesn’t dream of Lah’Mu that night.


	3. Dantooine

Lieutenant Melshi surprises her.

She’s learned much over the years, whether she gleaned it from reluctant Partisans or studied under Wendlyn’s wing or taught herself. The time she’s spent on different planets with different teams has given her a wealth of perspective on tactical style.

What Melshi teaches her is discipline.

Oh, there was discipline under Saw. She may have never received the brunt of it, but it was there, inspired mainly by intimidation. What Melshi teaches is self-discipline. Endurance.

Over two months, he drills them: laps around the base, out over the hills, long distance and sprints; hand-to-hand combat training; rock climbing on an indoor wall; navigation and compass training in the fields; and shooting, of course. And that’s just the morning. In the afternoon, there’s first aid training, weapons maintenance, reading star charts, basic operation of ships, coding and hacking, electronics.

Some of it, Jyn learned years ago; some of it fills in the gaps of what she already knows; and yes, some of it is new.

Melshi wants them on an even playing field. He wants the best-trained group of soldiers the alliance has ever seen. He’s hand-picked some from across the galaxy, he’s building a special force for unique missions. And later in the training, he starts to divulge what those missions might look like. They practice infiltrations using sections of the new base that haven’t been settled yet.

In a matter of weeks, Kes somehow becomes closer than any other person she’s ever known, aside from her mother. And maybe Saw Gerrera.

That doesn’t exactly mean they’re close enough that he knows her real name, of course. He doesn’t know that she’s worked with other groups outside of Wendlyn’s. He doesn’t know Saw Gerrera helped raise her. He doesn’t know that she’s been fighting since she was eight. He doesn’t know about Lah’Mu or her father who surrendered to the Empire.

But he does know how to make her laugh and how to piss her off. She’s not sure which one he’s trying for when he says:

“So, there’s rumors about us.”

She arches an eyebrow. They’re fixing the engine of a shuttle; Jyn’s perched on top of the ship while Kes leans against the ladder. He hands her a hydrospanner.

“Mass oppression across the galaxy, and you’re telling me that what the rebellion really wants to know is ‘Are Liana and Kes screwing around?’”

“It’s this strange thing called a ‘coping’ mechanism. They distract themselves with trivial gossip so they don’t have to think about, you know, possibly dying.”

“Coping mechanism, you say. Do you have it in that toolbox? Is this something I could get at commissary?”

She doesn’t look up, but she knows he’s smiling.

“So, got anyone back wherever?”

“Pardon?”

He rolls his eyes. “Do you have a boyfriend? Or girlfriend?”

She snorts and hands back the hydrospanner. “Sorry, Kes. You’re not really my type.”

“That’s not what I was asking.”

It’s been years (lifetimes) since she’s seen a holodrama, and she never really watched the ones targeted for older kids, yet somehow she feels like she’s in one. When she snatches the fusioncutter from Kes’ hands, she maybe uses a little too much force.

“Not much time for a love life in between shooting at bucketheads.”

“Who said anything about love?”

Now Jyn shifts and squints down at Kes. Where could he possibly be going with this? She hasn’t known him long, but she’s already pegged him as a romantic type. She’s not really sure why, but he’s kind of got that puppy dog sentimentality to him. Not that he isn’t fierce when it matters, but it’s something she thinks he tries to hide. She’s hiding her own things, after all. She hides them deep in her cave and never thinks about them.

So she sends him a _look_ ; as forcefully as she can, she tries to show him that she sees through him and she knows better.

“You just seem lonely,” he finally says, quiet and small and turning back to their toolkit to put the hydrospanner away.

Now she laughs. “Are you trying to help me get laid?”

He nearly falls off the ladder.

But, yes, that’s exactly what he’s doing.

She laughs again, surprising herself; it’s loud and echoes around them. Several people—a couple pilots, a woman with a data pad rushing by, two men chatting next to a U-Wing transport—look up at the sound. The two men scoff, and Jyn recognizes one as the scruffy-bearded fellow with the piercing gaze. Must be back from that mission, finally—it’s the first time she’s seen him since she met him. And she’s definitely not thought about him since then, either. Nope.

“Did you have someone in mind?” she says, turning back to the work on the engine.

“Just making conversation,” he mutters.

“Sure.” She looks over her handiwork. “So, do you have a coping mechanism of your own?”

She’s hoping to fluster him again, but now he keeps a straight face. “I usually refer to her as my wife.”

“Is that so?” she’s still grinning slightly, but then she glances back up at him and realizes he’s serious. She doesn’t usually think about age, but perhaps he looks younger than he is. Or perhaps some people just marry young. The thought of marriage has never once crossed her mind. Marriage, she thinks, has wrecked her mother. Lyra Erso abandoned her husband and still hasn’t forgiven herself for it.

Jyn turns back to the engine, wipes away some grease. “So those rumors about us, are they bothering her?”

“No,” he says. “But I was curious.”

“About?”

“Just you.” He shrugs. “I can’t be your only friend.”

“Who says we’re friends?”

“Li. Come on.”

She leans back from the engine, rests against the pane of the cockpit window.

“They’re throwing some kind of party tonight,” he says finally, dropping the rest of the tools back in the box. “Something to celebrate the establishment of this base.”

“You mean to celebrate this death box they’ve put us all in?”

Kes ignores her. “There’s a band playing.”

“A band? Really? Here?”

“Some older soldiers formed up together. I don’t know. Seems like a good time to lay off some steam.”

“Hence ‘Mission: Liana gets laid.’”

He cocks a half smile. “If you’d like to call it that.”

“I wouldn’t, actually.”

“So, what’s your type?” The conversation, it seems, has come full circle.

She’s never thought about it, at least not hard. No, she’s not inexperienced, she’s hooked up before—no easy feat when you’re passed from one rebel cell to another and your only real friend is your mother, but she’s managed. Perhaps Kes is right, and if Melshi even half-delivers on his promise that they’ll be tackling some of the toughest missions the rebellion dares dream up, she may not get another chance.

Her eyes find scruffy beard again. The man she hasn’t been thinking about. Kes follows her gaze.

And now it’s his turn to laugh.

“No, come on, seriously. What’s your type?”

She never explicitly said that _he_ was her type; Kes has made an assumption and it’s time to disabuse himself of it.

Instead she says, “What’s wrong with him?” She’s just curious.

“Andor?”

“Sure.” Andor. She logs that for later.

But now Kes’ smile has faded into a scoff. “No one really knows what division he’s in. He just kind of lurks around, disappears. Doesn’t interact with anyone outside his superiors.”

She gazes over at Andor. Kes has worked himself up over this. She decides to have some fun. “Sounds fine to me. No attachments. No entanglements.”

“He’s a loner, keeps to himself.”

“We’re a match.”

“ _You_ don’t make friends on purpose. And besides, I’m your friend. But Andor? The only thing anyone’s ever seen him talking to is that KX-series he keeps around. It’s just creepy.”

“Really? An Imperial droid?” Now she smirks.

“Heard he reprogrammed it.”

“That’s clever.” Because that’s the truth. “Seems useful for infiltration.”

“When you only have one companion and it’s a droid you reprogrammed…”

She yawns and taps the ladder with her foot. “Some wingman you are,” she says, as he starts to climb down. “First you insist on setting me up with someone, and then you don’t like who I choose.”

He hops down the rest of the way. Andor looks over, catches her in the middle of an awkward position as she switches to the ladder. Out of the corner of her eyes, she sees Kes watching, and what the heck—she winks over at Andor. It’s all to irritate Kes, it’s his fault anyways, he’s maneuvered her from annoyed to amused and she takes advantage of it. Sure enough, the scowl he’s wearing matches Andor’s. Jyn feels quite pleased with herself.

“You want to go looking for trouble? By all means. But I won’t help with that one.”

“Fine, fine.”

“I’m just trying to—”

“Protect me, I know. Come on, let’s go get lunch.”

#

“There’s a celebration tonight in the cafeteria,” Lyra tells her, when she slumps down on her mother’s bed. Training ended early and she's got free time for a change. Whatever her mother does for Mon Mothma, it’s earned her private quarters. Jyn bunks with the rest of her team, and it’s the first time in years that they haven’t shared a room.

“I was hoping we could go together,” her mother adds.

“I already made plans with Kes.”

Her mother’s mouth wobbles between a frown and a smile. “I’m glad you finally have a friend,” she settles on.

Jyn sighs. “I know, we haven’t seen each other in awhile.”

“There’s still space on Mothma’s team,” Lyra says, still trying to hold onto her smile.

“We’ve been through this,” Jyn says, laying back on the bed to stare at the ceiling and not her mother’s face. “I’d rather serve where I’m most useful.”

“You could learn a lot from Mothma.”

“If the Empire wanted to negotiate,” Jyn says, “they wouldn’t have taken papa to build weapons.”

Without looking, she senses Lyra’s frown has finally broken free. Jyn deflates.

“I’m sorry, mama. I’ll go with you to the party.”

“You should be with your friends.” Not sad, not angry. Just soft, sincere. “You know, I’m glad that being here, on Dantooine, has given you that opportunity. Someone your age should be at university… If you can't have that, at least this is better than holing up with a rebel cell hiding on some remote planet.”

Jyn doesn’t say that that is precisely what she hates about Dantooine—the feeling that her day-to-day has devolved into something almost resembling normalcy, complacency. How could she stomach the illusion of peace, the distraction from real problems with the pettiness of whatever social hierarchy games go on here? She can’t wait to be on the front lines, combating the Empire that broke apart her family.

Instead she says, “We’ll be shipping out, soon. I’ll go to the party with you.”

#

Someone (probably the newest batch of recruits) has pushed half the tables in the cafeteria to the walls, to make room for a dance floor. It remains mostly empty, inhabited only by several small clusters of men and women, chatting and nursing their drinks. But the night is young still.

Most gather around the bar, though the selection is limited, of course, in both variety and quantity. It is a rebellion after all, and alcohol costs money, time, and good sense.

Her mother introduces her to some of her colleagues; they chat and joke about work, about people Jyn’s never heard of, about the state of this planet or that planet. Jyn tries to engage, but lacks common-ground subjects to talk about. That young red-haired girl with the data pad has joined them, and when, about thirty minutes in, her mother encourages her to go ask some soldier to dance, Jyn tunes out completely.

She spots him (Andor) lurking across the room, sitting at one of the tables pushed too close to the wall and gathering shadows around himself. No sign of the reported reprogrammed Imperial droid, but that’s not surprising. Pity. A droid like that might stir up some trouble at a gathering like this, and that might have been mildly interesting.

“Friend of yours?”

Jyn looks up to see her mother’s friends have all left.

“Who?” She looks around and ignores her mother’s smirk.

“Cassian Andor? The boy you’ve been staring at for the last ten minutes?”

“I haven’t been staring.”

“Okay. Sure.”

Jyn won't give in, though her mother watches her, waiting. So she says, “I've heard they've had some trouble with Saw lately.”

Her mother sighs and shakes her head. “The same old story with him. We've tried to talk to him…”

“You still talk to him?”

“Not personally… but yes, as a team we’ve communicated with him.” Jyn can feel her mother’s eyes searching. “There’s something you should know about Saw.”

But whatever it is, Jyn can already see, she’s not going to find out. Here comes Mothma’s main assistant, urgency propelling her steps towards them.

She doesn’t want to hear about Saw, anyways. Doesn’t want to hear about a man who betrayed them even after they’d already been left behind once. So when her mother goes, on some important, classified business, she’s really not disappointed that their conversation ended. She dodged a blast bolt, really, she did. She’ll just see her mother later, and not talk about Saw. Or Cassian. Or the rebellion. Or anything.

Unrelatedly (because she has nothing else to do), she visits the bar.

#

“Hallik!”

Kes hails her over before she can push her way through the line of people blocking the bar. She strongly considers playing deaf, so she doesn’t have to give up her position.

“Oy! Liana!”

She should have known that a celebration for this dumb base would be just as dumb.

With a groan drowned out by the chatter and music, she backtracks to the table Kes and his friends are clustered at. She can’t help but notice they’ve scoped out a strategic vantage point close enough to the bar, but still outside the worst of the crowd.

“Didn’t think you were coming.”

“In fact, I was just leaving.” A celebration, during a rebellion. The more she thinks about it, the more she hates Dantooine.

Kes makes a face that she can’t read. “With our mission tonight not even started? I didn’t think you were they type to give up.”

With the heaviest of sighs, Jyn blows her bangs out of her eyes and crosses her arms.

“Come on,” he says, trying too hard. It’s sort of working though. “Primary objective: loosen up. Have some fun. Secondary objective…”

“Yea, yea.” Jyn waves her hand. “I remember. It was just this morning.”

A scan of the room has indicated this mission may be her most difficult yet.

“When is Shara getting in?” asks one of the other Pathfinder recruits that Kes brought with them. Ryllan is his name.

“Should be later,” Kes says. His wife, he means. It’d taken him two months to tell her he was married, but once he did he wouldn’t shut up about it. Not that she minded, exactly, but it felt like they’d crossed a new line for Jyn in terms of ‘friendship,’ and that troubled her. It wasn’t going to work like a trade, she decided earlier—there’d be no, “I told you my secret now you tell me yours,” if that’s what he was thinking.

But then, it’s been several hours since lunch, and he still hasn’t asked or pried or anything, so maybe Kes just likes to share. Or maybe he’s just excited to see her tonight.

“See anyone?” Kes asks, noticing her sweep of the room.

“Negative,” she says. “Oh well. It was a nice thought.”

He drops it. For now at least. Instead he brings up the drill from this morning, and finally, Jyn’s got something to talk about. Just as she’s hit her stride in her analysis of what scenarios the formation will be most useful in, a group of fifteen or so pilots enters the mess.

The conversation in their group halts. Kes glances over, watching, searching. And then he’s waving, and a woman with curly black hair and still wearing her flight suit runs over.

They embrace, he twirls her around, and she’s smiling, and Jyn realizes that all those other times she’d seen Kes smile were just shadows of the smile he wears now. She’s seen that expression before, and she tries to bury it, tries to look away (as if blinded by the sun) but then the memory bubbles up anyways: the look on her father’s face when her mother entered the room.

Jyn looks to the bar.

“Liana, this is my wife, Shara,” he says. Now she’s trapped. She turns and smiles and shakes her hand.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Jyn says. Shara smiles and shakes her head at Kes. Jyn wonders, if she had a husband or a lover or a boyfriend or whatever, if she’d want them yammering away about her all the time. No, of course not. That’d be reckless. A partner is just a liability and a heartache waiting to happen. Again, unbidden, comes the image of her father and her mother; this time it’s her father facing the man in white and her mother staring back at them, a choice hovering behind her eyes.

Shara’s said some kind of joke, and Jyn laughs along with everyone else. Then Shara offers to get a round of drinks (escape plan spoiled, Jyn suppresses a frown) and disappears in the crowd.

“She’s great, Kes,” Ryllan says, and the other friend, a man named Subu, nods. Judging by the way they gravitate towards each other, Jyn’s surmised they’ve already partnered up themselves.

“Now if only we could find someone for Liana,” Kes says.

Jyn snorts. “It’s fine.”

“You’re not still thinking about Andor, are you?”

Subu raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

“Hadn’t even crossed my mind. Is he even here?”

Kes shakes his head. “Doubtful.”

Shortly after Shara returns, she and Kes disappear into a corner. Jyn eyes his two friends.

“It seems,” she says, despite herself, “my wingman has left me for a pilot.”

Subu chuckles. “Can’t blame him though, can ya?”

“I suppose not.” She sighs and glances towards the door. “Well, it’s been… something. Don’t stay up too late.”

“Maybe we can help.”

Jyn turns back to them, arches an eyebrow.

“Who’s the guy Kes mentioned?” Subu asks.

She shrugs. “No one. I was having a little fun with Kes. He thinks he’s dangerous.”

“Is he here?”

“Right over there.” Jyn points with the now half-empty stein that Shara brought her. She’s not going too fast. She can handle herself.

“Oh. Him.” Subu glances at her. “Yea. Kes may have a point. Doesn’t seem like that’d bother you, though. Whether _he_ ’d spare a moment for a little distraction, on the other hand…”

Subu shakes his head.

“Who’s this fellow anyways?” Ryllan asks.

Subu answers. “Loner type. Not really attached to a specific division. Kinda lurks around, does odd jobs I guess.”

“Not really attached” confirms Jyn’s suspicions: spy.

Ryllan squints in the direction Jyn pointed. “Mr. Stick Up His Ass?”

“That’s the one.”

“Yea, good luck with that,” Ryllan says. “May the Force be with you.”

Subu snorts beer into his glass. Jyn swears plenty herself, but using that phrase like that almost crosses a line. She squints at him.

“Is that a challenge?”

“Sure. Ten credits says you come up cold.”

“Make it twenty and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“You’re on, sister.”

With a final swig of her beer, Jyn stalks towards Cassian Andor.

#

She’s halfway across the room before she realizes that maybe she should have something to say. She’s never had to pick someone up before; her previous experiences were, well, usually after the heat of battle or something, with a guy she’d been fighting alongside for at least a few months.

What do you say to intrigue a spy?

She stops at the bar and orders two drinks (because she can spy too, and she spies the empty bottle next to him). She’s even spotted the brand on the label. But then she thinks, maybe offering a stranger a drink would be heavy-handed, suspicious. So she leaves behind the drink she ordered for herself, and takes a swig of the drink intended for him—because camaraderie, right—and nearly gags. What is this, bantha piss? At least she can brace herself before she drinks it in front of him.

And finally she arrives. With nothing to say. She sits down next to him at the table, takes a swig of nasty beer, and glares out at the celebrating crowd.

“Can I help you?”

She wonders if he’s purposefully shooting her words back at her, the first words she said to him. But that’s silly. It’s just a normal question to ask. And why would he even remember? (Why does she?)

“I don’t think so.” She doesn’t look at him.

“Plenty of open seats,” he says.

“Yea.”

He sighs and shifts like he’s about to stand up.

“Seems like a mistake to me,” she says quickly. She blurts it out, and when she says it, she could mean a million things: it’s a mistake that she’s come over here, it’s a mistake that he’s leaving, it’s a mistake she couldn’t say something better.

“Pardon?”

“This party. This base. All of it’s a mistake.”

Now he looks at her, brown eyes probing, but the rest of his face still that mask.

“Gathering us all here, in one location. We might as well put a target on our backs.”

“We’ve gone to great lengths to hide the location of this base,” Cassian says, looking away.

“Time and resources that could have been spent on sabotaging trade routes, stealing more ships, or medicine, or subverting—”

“You’re one of the Pathfinder recruits, aren’t you?” She remembers his little speech from last time, about how he seemed to know the basics about her past: “ _You’re—what? A leader in your previous cell? Second in command? Used to calling the shots? And now you’ve been recruited to a special forces team._ ” But that was just a lucky guess, right?

“If I am?”

He shakes his head. “Fresh off the shuttle, and you think you know how to run a rebellion.”

She’d wanted to say it two months ago and it spills out of her, pre-loaded, her finger feathering over the trigger. She knows better but she fires away anyways.

“I’ve been fighting this rebellion more than half my life.”

He looks back at her and she sees herself reflected in his eyes, sees the spark she inherited from her mother, and if she could incinerate him with just a look she _would_ …

“Hmm,” is all he says as he turns away. He goes to take a drink of his own beer before remembering he’s already finished. “Is there a reason you came over here?”

Right. The bet. She’s about ready to get up and go, but then she remembers that bet. She glances over and sees Ryllan and Subu watching. No reward is worth this, she thinks.

But she looks back at Cassian. The man she really hasn’t been thinking about (the reason she hasn’t dreamed of Lah’Mu).

“I’m trying to figure out,” she says slowly, as she tries to figure out what, exactly, she’s going to say she’s trying to figure out. “If I’m the only one here not buying it.”

“Not buying what?”

“The point of all this. The party. The distraction.”

He snorts. “It’s supposed to be good for morale.”

“Is that so? Doesn’t change the fact that this is a rebellion, and death is ever at our doorstep.”

He arches an eyebrow. “And how would you cope instead?”

“I’d find someone decent looking and shag him till daylight.”

Cassian’s jaw twitches, just so slightly that anyone else probably wouldn’t have noticed. This is why she’s doing it; the game, the sparring. The knowledge that she can outwit this supposed spy, who seems to take himself so seriously. She smiles to herself and takes a big gulp of her beer. And then draws upon all her willpower not to spit it all out.

“So, Cassian,” she says, because why not? She’s about to play all her cards. “Am I the only one who wants to get out of here?”

#

“How did you know my name?” he says, twenty minutes later when they’re in his room and halfway to undressed. He mutters the question into her neck and she sighs before answering.

“As if you don’t know mine.”

She pushes him down onto his cot, straddles him and kisses him before he can answer. He tastes like that terrible beer, but she’s sort of getting used to it, and besides his lips are soft and warm and she hadn’t realized how much she _needed_ this. He’s a stranger but that almost makes it better; no messes to worry about in the morning, no awkward conversations with boys who’d wanted more than she had.

“How would I…” he starts to say, and then she finds a spot at the base of his neck and shoulder. “...know your name?”

“I’d be a little worried if you didn’t, an intelligence officer like yourself.”

“I’m not…”

“Less talking,” she says.

“Yes, ma’am, officer Hallik.”

She smiles as she kisses him again. Cassian, she soon finds out, is quite good at taking direction.

#

It’s not a relationship. Jyn doesn’t need to tell anyone that because they’re very careful to keep it covert. They see each other only five times in the course of a year and a half, because it’s a rebellion after all. Because Jyn only spends the minimum required time at the base. Because she spends most of that time on base with her mother. And because Cassian is gone away on long missions, probably. She never asks.

The first time, he catches her off guard.

She’s trying to fix a droid they need for their next op. She’s brought it to the mechanic, but they’re busy enough that she ends up doing her own repairs. She’s in the middle of fiddling with the back panels, pushing back wires, reaching for a tool to clamp two together, and then:

“I think it’s the coping mechanism.”

Over her left shoulder, Cassian’s appeared, sneaky quiet. He’s handing her the tool she’d reached for and uses it to point at a part. His tone is casual, as if he’s just come over to help her fix something. But his voice is low, quiet enough that people can’t actually make out the words. And the use of that specific phrase startles her.

She shakes her head. _Damn spies_ , she thinks. He’s gone out of his way, with the almost-whisper and the code words. The sentence is really a question, an invitation. At least they’re equally bad at pick-up lines.

She twists in her chair. There’s a droid lurking behind him, sorting through inventory on his own. It glances at her and the angle of its head and shoulders suggests impatience. Then she notices the Imperial brand on its arm, and she starts, her hand goes to her blaster. Cassian stops her with a hand on her shoulder.

“That’s just K-2.” Right. His reprogrammed droid. And besides, she’s being silly, because an actual Imperial droid wouldn’t have made it this far down here. It’s just that he caught her off guard. She groans inwardly. Stupid Cassian Andor.

“You think you can just—”

He shrugs. “If you’ve got it figured out,” and he’s pointing to her droid. He turns to go.

_Damn it_.

“See you later,” she says, just as casually, turning back to the droid, clamping the two wires together.

As they leave, she hears his robot say, “Coping mechanism? That’s not a droid part.”

The second time, it’s her turn. Her move. Her game. (She’s the one that started it, right?)

She’s out on a run when she spots a familiar U-Wing landing, so she cuts the run short and swings by the hangar just to see. Sure enough, she spots him unloading his ship. The droid carries a large crate off into the depths of the bay.

She slips inside, up the ramp, when his back is turned, because she’s been in the rebellion since she was eight and she knows how to sneak properly, too.

The ship is empty—she’d been pretty sure about that before she snuck on, but she checks all the same. When she's confirmed the coast is clear, she finds a yet-unloaded crate and makes herself at home. (Home has always been on a ship anyways, hasn’t it?)

Cassian Andor can hide his surprise, but she watches carefully, she looks for his face when she hears his feet on the ramp, and she swears his eyebrows twitch just a little.

“Do you need this?” she asks. Without a word, he grabs her hand and pulls her into the cramped sleeping quarters and she wonders when the last time was that she’d ever smiled this much.

So it goes, back and forth. Months stretch into a year, year and a half. They don't talk much, except to quip. She learns nothing new about him: nothing about his life, where he's from, who his parents are, what his ambitions are, when or how or why he joined the rebellion. And he learns nothing about her. With him, she isn’t Liana Hallik or Tanith Pontha or Kestrel Dawn. She isn’t Jyn Erso. She’s just a woman. And the galaxy fades away and nothing exists outside of them and she doesn’t have to think and she doesn’t have to dream.

The last time, neither of them surprise each other. There’s been a setback. A major incident. Several rebels captured, almost half a cell. It’s Wendlyn’s cell. Cassian is the one that brings the news and briefs the Pathfinders about the rescue mission. And three weeks later, when they return (exhausted, bloody, still tallying their quarry and trying not to tally those they lost), he’s waiting for her in the hangar. She sees him, and nods, and when her role is done but it’s still crowded enough to be discreet, they slip out together.

The door closes behind him, and they’re alone in his room; he breaks the silence.

“We’re leaving Dantooine. Base has been compromised.”

Since she first set foot here, it’s what she’s wanted (to leave). It’s what she’s feared (compromise). She’s not surprised, given her original estimation, almost two years ago. She’s not surprised given how their rescue mission went. And yet for some reason, when she looks up at him, she hesitates.

She would have said something snarky, normally. But she says nothing.

He pushes back her hair, his callused finger traces her skin. He’s never been this tender. Her heart has never beat this loudly, not since—not since, well, a lifetime ago. He bends down, comes most of the way, but he waits. She can feel his breath and she can see herself reflected in his eyes and she doesn’t recognize that expression on her face.

That’s a lie.

She hasn’t worn that expression in a long time, but she does recognize it.

It’s the expression she wore when her father left. And when Saw left.

She closes her eyes because there’s no _reason_ to wear that expression. Never again, she’d promised herself. And Cassian is just a distraction. Just a coping mechanism.

So she closes her eyes and closes the distance and she does not think about the possibility that this may be the last time she sees him, if they’re to scatter across the galaxy.

It’s not a relationship, and Jyn doesn’t need to tell anyone that. Not Kes, not her mother, and most definitely not herself.


	4. Horuz

“Intel’s been down since Onderon.”

Draven doesn’t need to say why, and Cassian doesn’t need think about it. He doesn’t think about Blair (who enlisted when he did), he doesn’t hear K-2’s voice in his head (“there’s a twenty-six point eight percent chance he’ll outrun the TIE fighters”), and he doesn’t see the ship explode when he closes his eyes (because he never saw it).

Cassian waits, watching Draven from the other side of the table. They’re alone in a smaller briefing room. Just down the corridor, Mothma and her team are settling into the control room of the new rebel base. The Great Temple of Massassi. Older even than the Republic. He supposes that means something to some people; he’d passed a familiar-looking aid, staring in awe at her surroundings as if she was on a tour in a museum.

(But he’s not thinking about anyone in the Hallik family, just like he’s not thinking about Blair.)

“We’re looking across all branches for a replacement.”

Blair had a special set of skills. (Piloting was not one of them.)

“I’ve sent you a list of the top recruits that have been recommended to us. Review their files. We need background checks and an analysis of their skill sets.”

Cassian doesn’t frown because he’s capable of schooling his expression.

They won’t scold him or reprimand him for what happened on Onderon; his mission had been a technical success. He’d achieved every goal. (Except for one. The unspoken one. The obvious one. _Bring everyone back._ ) Blair had made a choice.

“Yes, sir.”

Cassian waits to open the scan docs until he gets to his room. It’s busy work. It’s work to keep him from the field for just a little while. It’s supposed to be a reprieve, but it feels more like punishment.

The sooner he finishes, the sooner he gets a new mission.

It’s late into the evening when he begins his report on the final candidate.

Sergeant Liana Hallik.

He blinks, but there’s her picture, he can’t be misreading.

It’s been one year since they left Dantooine behind (one year since he saw her). One month since they scouted Yavin 4 for their new base and started making preparations to move in. One week since they started reconsolidating rebel forces in one place again. And not even one day since he saw her mother.

Cassian doesn’t believe in the Force or in destiny, but something uncomfortable twists in his gut.

He begins reading.

Three years of service with the Pathfinders. He scrolls and scrolls through the list of achievements that Lieutenant Melshi has compiled. He doesn’t miss the fact that Liana has never left anyone behind. She’s had two major trips to the medbay (one of which explains the blaster scar on her left ribs) because of wounds she sustained first from rescuing a soldier named Kes Dameron and second from serving as the distraction for a retrieval operation. She single-handedly held off nine stormtroopers, allowing her compatriots to hijack a Lambda-class shuttle.

Her file indicates she spent three years under Wendlyn Trado before he recommended her to Melshi. It details a few other missions there, ops that Liana headed with Wendlyn’s approval. He’s not surprised.

And then the file ends.

There’s nothing earlier than age fifteen.

“ _I’ve been fighting this rebellion more than half my life._ ”

It takes him hours of searching, of reading through other files and dead ends. Liana Hallik doesn’t exist before age fifteen, at least not verifiably. Her scan doc indicates a birth planet (Aria Prime), but he has no files to confirm this. The last concrete detail he has comes from a departure manifest from Klonoid.

He searches for data on the Klonoid cell; he’s spoken with that leader recently, under the alias Fulcrum. No evidence of a Liana Hallik, but he finds a description of a mother and daughter included on an old roster—Tanith and Shira Pontha—that might fit Liana and her mother.

And then he sees a report filed by another member of the cell. It’s old, and was marked unreliable, since Klonoid’s leader wouldn’t corroborate the information, but it claims the daughter of an Imperial weapons scientist infiltrated the cell. The date on the report is only days before Liana and Winni Hallik’s departure from Klonoid.

“ _I’m not here to get promoted or for ambition. I’m here to fight the Empire._ ”

What _had_ she been doing, lurking by his U-Wing the day he met her? What had she been doing, when she came to him that night on Dantooine, drinking the same beer as him (which she obviously hated)?

But she can’t be a spy.

(He doesn’t see her face when he closes his eyes, he doesn’t feel her hair in his fingertips, he doesn’t taste her lips or hear her sigh or breathe her in. He hadn’t waited for her on Dantooine, hadn’t waited to see her one last time.)

He includes it in his report because he must—no info prior to age fifteen, the tip about a potential Imperial spy, and the lack of verification. It probably means nothing. But if it does mean something, the risk of not investigating would be too high. If Liana is a spy, then so is her mother, and her mother works for Mothma… He curses the recruiter who first reviewed her docs three years ago.

#

Jyn ought to hate Yavin 4 the moment she sets foot on it.

The jungle assaults her: with its acrid breeze, slinging the stench of rotting vegetation and mildew; with shrieks and hoots and moans of creatures she can only imagine; with a sticky, humid film that coats her skin in sweat within seconds.

Yes, she ought to hate this place, another death trap waiting to happen.

But she plants her feet on the tarmac and stares up at the ziggurat, the massive stone structure that has stood here for thousands of years, untouched, and she has only one thought.

 _Mama_.

Lyra Erso is already there, of course, already waiting for her in the shadow of the hangar. As Jyn approaches, they spot each other, almost at the same time, and even though it’s hot they both race forward and embrace.

It’s been almost four months since their paths intersected. With all its faults, Jyn had reluctantly admitted that Dantooine at least served as a landing pad where she could always be sure to find her mother at the end of a mission. With forces scattered, the Pathfinders rarely wound up in the same place as Mothma’s team.

She hugs her mother just a little tighter before letting go.

Lyra leads her inside, through hallways covered in ancient etchings, rambling on about the Force and the history of the temple, a patchwork of facts Lyra’s already been able to glean in the few days she’s been here.

“What’s so funny?” Lyra says, interrupting herself when she spots the grin on her daughter’s face.

Jyn laughs and shakes her head. “Nothing. I’ve got a briefing in an hour. How about we finish the history lesson over lunch?”

#

“Have you mentioned this to anyone?”

Draven watches him, gaze piercing, from the other side of the table, in that same small briefing room outside command.

“Of course not.”

“Good.” Draven nods. “What’s your gut instinct, Captain?”

“It’s likely nothing, sir,” Cassian answers. “We have no evidence that information has been leaked to the Empire, no advantages lost that would trace back to either Hallik. Falsely accusing one of Mothma’s aids could result in sowing further distrust among the rebellion in addition to wasting time. Still, it’s not worth risking, either.”

Draven nods again. “Agent Pellen is already en route to Klonoid. I’ll add this to her objective.”

Cassian hesitates. Weighs volunteering to go himself. Before he can, Draven continues.

“I’m assigning you as a liaison to the Pathfinders for a mission on Horuz. Hallik will be leading the mission. Since you’re familiar with the terrain, I’ve requested that Melshi to bring you on. He also believes this is a field test for Hallik, based on his recommendation for advancement.”

“Understood, sir. What is the mission?”

“Agent Dustow was stranded there on a reconnaissance mission.”

Cassian cringes inwardly. Blair, gone. Dustow, trapped. No wonder intel has been down.

“The Pathfinders are mounting an exfiltration,” Draven says. “Dustow’s information is invaluable and we must retrieve her. Your primary objective is to aid in her safe return. Your secondary objective is to evaluate Sergeant Hallik firsthand. Confirm she’s clean, corroborate Melshi’s recommendation, and analyze her skillsets as they would pertain to a role in intelligence.”

“Understood, sir.” Cassian stands to leave.

“One more thing. If you do find evidence that she is a spy, it is preferred that you bring her in for questioning. Avoid tipping your hand. However, if you catch her in the act of conspiring with Imperials, you are authorized to kill her.”

He gulps down the bile rising in his throat.

“Yes, sir.”

#

He arrives midway through Melshi’s briefing on the location: Horuz, another jungle planet, like Yavin 4. Trees hacked back to make room for manufacturing plants. An Outer Rim planet that for some reason receives more troop protection and trade than is typical and than is actually reported to the public.

Cassian visited the planet a year ago, when he and several others uncovered rumors of undocumented Imperial activity in the Horuz sector. He’d scoped the planet out to locate the buildings and map the local terrain, but had to bail due to the heavy Imperial presence.

He stays quiet as Melshi speaks and lingers in the back corner. She sits directly in front of him, in the second row; her gaze cheats to the side so she can chime in when appropriate. Based on the angle, the shadows, she hasn’t seen him enter.

(He has not thought about this moment at all during the ten minutes it took to navigate to the larger briefing room downstairs. He has not thought about the look on her face when she sees him or hears that he’s tagging along.)

“Captain Andor will join us to help us scout the location,” Melshi says. “Some of you may remember him.”

Melshi stretches out his hand and that’s his cue. Cassian strides right past her to the lectern. It’s been a little over a year since he last interacted with the Pathfinders; he wouldn’t really recognize most of the faces. He scans the room before settling on hers.

Her expression gives away nothing. She might as well just be another soldier, listening to a briefing. Of course.

Melshi clicks a remote and the screen behind him flickers into an aerial view of a manufacturing property.

“The Horuz complex is quite extensive,” Cassian explains. “As you can see, these facilities on the right are used primarily for shipping.” He gestures towards what are obviously landing pads before sweeping his hand to the left. “And this whole section is the main facility. Whatever they are manufacturing, it moves through several buildings, seen here, here, and here. We believe materials are stored here, administration here.

“Most activity will be congregated around this quadrant. However, there are four smaller, abandoned facilities around the main facility.”

Melshi clicks and four circles around the main facility highlight what looks like trees.

“The jungle growth is aggressive. It may look simple from this photograph, but from the ground the complex turns into a maze. I’ll help you navigate on the ground.”

Melshi hands the remote to Liana (is that her name?) as Cassian steps aside.

“Agent Syenna Dustow sent out a signal here.” She clicks and only one of the highlighted circles remains. “Our mission is to land, extract her, and get out of there.”

It’s the Pathfinders specialty: get in, get out before the enemy knows they’re there.

“The tricky part will be avoiding scout troops looking for Dustow. The Imperials will have to search all four of the abandoned facilities and the surrounding jungle to find her. We’ll have the advantage thanks to her beacon. If we follow the same protocol we used on Corulag, it should help expedite the mission. Any questions?”

#

He doesn’t expect a reaction from her so long as they’re in public.

Melshi must have informed her of his involvement ahead of time. He’s sure there’s no way she could hide her surprise otherwise. He may not know her name (doesn’t know what to call her), but her moods play on her face like sunlight on water. Her distaste for the beer, her grin the first time she snuck onto his ship, the fire in her eyes as she said, “I’ve been fighting this rebellion more than half my life.”

(Unless she’s been a spy this whole time. Unless it’s all been an act.)

He stays to the side, lets her take the lead, watches as she supervises the loading of the ship, answering questions, directing. Take this, leave that. Weapons, rations, medical supplies. It’s a routine, she’s comfortable in it, but she’s distant, in a way he’s never seen before. Not that he’s ever seen her on a mission.

Then K-2 arrives.

He waits for shock or anger to register on her face (he waits for the same expression she had when she first met K-2), but instead, when she looks up from the data pad she’s been reviewing and sees him carrying the heavy box of ammo onto the ship, her lip twitches in what might be a suppressed smile, and she looks back at Cassian.

But her compatriots are most definitely not grinning. K-2 can have that affect, what with the Imperial mark on his arm. It probably doesn’t help that he’s holding weapons, either. Those closest simply pause and stare as K-2 enters the ship.

“Cassian only asked me to help with the items too heavy for humans.” He sets down the box. “Don’t expect me to carry everything.”

K-2 turns and retraces his steps.

“Haven’t you all seen a droid before?” says Liana, waving her hand. “Back to work, then.”

“There’s a hundred percent chance we’ll run into other KX-series droids on Horuz,” K-2 says as he passes her at the bottom of the ramp. “I suggest you warn your team before we arrive.”

She stares at his back, then looks at Cassian.

He shrugs. “He tends to say whatever comes to his circuits. It’s a result of his reprogramming.”

Before she can respond, a soldier appears from the cockpit. “Sergeant,” he says. Cassian recognizes him, vaguely. “R4’s acting up again.”

She sighs and starts up the ramp. “Where’s Telna?”

“Already working on it. No luck.”

She turns to Cassian. “Know anything about astromechs?”

“I wouldn’t trust him with droid repair,” K-2 says, reappearing with another box, this one packed with blasters and rifles. “Not since he advised you to repair a coping mechanism. That’s not even a droid part.”

It takes a good portion of Cassian’s will to resist reacting to that comment. A couple soldiers nearby glance between him and K-2, briefly, but Liana casts a glare around the cabin and they return to their work. All except the soldier from the cockpit; he’s sending his own look to Liana, and Cassian can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused.

“Whatever comes into his circuits, huh?” Liana saves her last glare for him before stalking towards the cockpit. She calls over her shoulder, “Well? You coming?”

“Kes Dameron, by the way,” the soldier says. Cassian nods. So this is the man Liana wound up in the medbay for. What are they? Friends? Lovers? “How do you know Li?”

She’s out of earshot already. Not ideal. He shrugs. “Must have been some time on Dantooine. I’ve worked with the Pathfinders before.”

“Right.” Dameron doesn’t seem convinced. It’s going to be a long mission.

#

He keeps to himself during the flight, and tries to stay as far from K-2 and Liana as he can.

The keyword is ‘tries’.

He’s gone to the cargo hold to pack his satchel, and apparently she’s had the same idea because she’s already there, her pack half full, and she’s stuffing more into it.

“Captain,” she says, not looking up as he approaches. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“Same to you, sergeant,” he says.

He closes the distance and starts filling his own pack: a radio, first aid kit, a poison antidote kit, a blaster pistol, spare power packs.

“Thanks for your help with the R4,” she says.

“That one won’t last much longer. You should get a new droid.”

“Like yours?”

She sounds angry, but when he looks up he sees her half smile.

He leans over, reaching—

“Don’t get any ideas, Captain,” she says, and her half-smile is gone. She stares up at him, eyes burning, and not for the first time, he wonders where the anger comes from that fuels the fire in her gaze. “There’s no time for distractions.”

—he grabs the blaster silencer from the box on the other side of her and leans away.

“They’re in here,” K-2 says from the doorway. Cassian just might disable him. He’s this close.

“Maybe you should get one for your droid.” She points to the silencer in his hand and walks away.

#

They enter atmo far from the base, on the other side of a mountain range, and glide low over the jungle canopy. The complex lies to the southeast, and they follow along the spine of the range, weaving between crests and ridges, over waterfalls and rivers, until they find a narrow valley close enough to hide their ship.

The heat of Horuz sticks to them the second they disembark. They’ve parked beneath a low peak that provides shade, but no cool refuge. Minutes into the jungle and they’re all covered in a glean of sweat.

Tempers flare before they even leave the ship.

“We never discussed bringing K-2 with us,” Cassian says, surprised he even has to. No one ever wants Kay around.

“Having an Imperial droid around could be useful.”

Cassian rubs his face. She’s arguing with the conviction of someone who has never brought K-2 along on delicate missions. If it were just him, maybe she’d have a point, but with a team as large as they have, there’s no extra advantage.

“This isn’t an infiltration,” he says, looking away from her burning gaze out into the shadows of the jungle. “Dustow’s holed up in an abandoned facility offsite. Bringing him will slow us down. He’s of better use waiting with the ship so we can get away faster.”

“What if we run into a scout team?”

“We don’t need Kay to get us out of that.”

“What if they already found her?”

“That’s unlikely.”

“But still possible.”

K-2 speaks before Cassian can respond. “There’s a twenty-seven point oh-four chance that they’ve already found her. The chances increase by the minute.”

Liana arches her eyebrows. “He’s coming with us.”

K-2 turns his head towards Cassian.

With a sigh, Cassian relents. As he walks away, he hears K-2 add, “The humidity level is eighty-nine percent. I will require an oil bath upon our return.”

#

Getting to Dustow’s location takes half the morning. Liana leads them through a pass and over a ridge, where they pause to take note of Imperial locations. There’s a watchtower a little over half a mile to the south east; Cassian knows it’s right on the edge of the main campus. Dustow’s abandoned shack is somewhere in the jungle between them, maybe half the distance.

To the plain eye, there’s no sign of Imperials, but they must be in the trees below, searching.

Liana pulls out a set of binoculars. Beside her, Kes searches for the signal of Dustow’s beacon. Without a word, he points and Liana moves her binoculars to follow his finger.

“Where’s the next closest facility?” she says to Cassian. He points off to the south.

She moves her binoculars then, sliding them from east to south.

“No sign of… wait.” Her finger toggles the zoom. “Yes, there. Five ‘troopers, at least. Maybe more.”

“They’ll start at the southeast portion of the facility,” Cassian says.

“Better get moving.”

Liana leads them down the ridge, through the growth. Around them, the shadows in the canopy slink and slither; monkeys and birds chirp and twitter and laugh; yellow and orange eyes peer at them.

In front of him, sweat beads down Liana’s hairline, down her jaw, down her neck. It soaks through the gray-green tank (because she’s already stripped off her camo jacket and stuffed it in her pack).

She turns back to look at him, her eyes as green as the jungle.

She listens as he explains the layout of the complex: the five small storage shacks, two manufacturing warehouses, the trees and vines that run between them. And then she pushes forward again. No sign of ‘troopers yet.

It takes them thirty minutes to locate the exact building; it’s one of the warehouses. Liana directs her team to secure the perimeter and has Kes and Cassian follow her inside.

They enter through one of the bay doors—the metal has fallen off rusted hinges and beams, lies in a heap beneath dirt and ferns, and leaves a gaping hole that the jungle has exploited. Vines snake their way across the floor, looping over machines and tables and shelves; they punch their way through broken windows and slither down the walls. Flowers bloom along pumps, poles, pulleys. Trees poke up next to columns, branches reaching out to the dim green light streaming in over the shards of glass left in the window panes.

Startling Dustow could make her suspicious, make her shoot. She’s been holed up for days, waiting for the Imperials to come searching. So Liana wastes no time. She calls out Syenna’s name, calls out the standard passphrase.

Nothing. They tread further into the building, just Liana, Cassian, and Kes.

They’re ten minutes in, winding through a jungle of metal and plants, up a flight of stairs that’s more tree roots than metal. Then they hear a twig snap, and twist around.

Silhouetted against the dim light, Dustow stands on a catwalk above them, blaster raised.

“Syenna,” Liana says slowly. “We’re here to rescue you.”

“Who are you?”

“Sergeant Liana Hallik,” she says, raising her hands. “And this is Kes Dameron and Cassian Andor. General Draven sent us.”

It’s hard to tell in the lighting, but Cassian swears her eyes narrow at the sound of his name. Then she swings the blaster towards him.

“Cassian Andor,” she says.

“Hello, Syenna.”

It’s a split second, but Liana’s eyes dart towards Cassian before going back to Syenna.

“I’m not going anywhere.” And Cassian braces himself for what must be her next words. _With him_ . But instead she says, “Until I’ve completed _my_ mission.”

Liana shifts her weight to her other foot. “Security is too heavy right now. There’s a team of Imperials heading this way as we speak. Draven’s orders are just exfiltration.”

The pistol shifts back to Liana. Cassian’s hand hovers by his own rifle.

Dustow’s eyes bore into them, and she thrusts her gaze from person to person. “I’ve come this far,” she says, her voice quieter if not softer. “What the Empire is making here is unprecedented. Something is happening here. Something bigger than anything we’ve seen before. We cannot leave this planet without finding out what they’re building.”

And her gaze ends on Liana. Cassian’s hands curl into fists but he says nothing. He just watches as the match burning in Dustow’s eyes catches in Liana’s, and he knows already that the decision has been made.

“Tell us what you know.”

#

Cassian had written, in his evaluation, that Liana Hallik is impulsive and reckless. Her style and tactics remind him of a milder Saw Gerrera, overly aggressive if not brutal and crude. Though effective in the Pathfinder unit, she would not fit in an intelligence role. (Assuming, of course, that she is not a spy.)

Until now, he’d wondered if maybe his evaluation had been premature.

Still, he says nothing as Syenna lays out what she knows. She lists inventory: massive generators, turbolasers, and prefab interior modules. She lists transports: cargo ships coming day and night to keep up with production. She focuses on the numbers.

“It has to be production for the Star Destroyers, but even then, the sheer quantity being produced would imply a fleet of unprecedented size…”

Liana listens, enraptured, drinking it all in. Perhaps she’s forming a plan (Cassian thinks the gears are turning behind her eyes), but the longer they sit and listen, the more time the Imperials have to find them.

“Log it in your report when we get back to base,” he says finally, interrupting. Dustow’s dark eyes narrow. “We’re wasting time.”

“If we leave now, we’re wasting an opportunity that we may never see again. Whatever they’re building, they’re finishing. Wrapping up production. They’ve already finished production on—”

“So what would you have us do?” Liana says.

“I’ve got the schematics for the generators,” she says, producing a disk. “I’ve already altered the code. We can sabotage the production by installing my version to their main server. They’ve still got plenty enough left to make that it could put a real dent in their production schedules. If we can get to their admin office, we can install the altered code, and maybe even take more—”

“The manifests,” Liana says, and Syenna nods. “We can find out where they’re shipping to. See what they’re building.”

“How exactly do you propose we break into...” Cassian stops as Liana looks at him, a grin threatening to break out on her face. Her eyes gleam.

“Step ahead of you.”

#

The stormtroopers and their Imperial officers go down easy. They were searching for one person and found eight.

Still, a blaster bolt grazes Cassian’s back as he barely ducks out of the way in time. It mostly nicks the fabric of his shirt, close enough to blister his skin but not do major damage. A small wound, but he’s careful when he changes into the stormtrooper suit.

Four of them will enter the base: Liana, Kes, Cassian and K-2. Dustow hadn’t said anything when Liana had outlined her plan, but now, as they change, she speaks up.

“You’ll need someone who knows the layout.”

Cassian opens his mouth, but Liana’s faster.

“They’ve been searching for you, they know your face. It’s too much of a liability.”

“Then give me a stormtrooper uniform.”

Liana purses her lips for a second, and again Cassian opens his mouth, but she holds up a hand in his direction.

“It’s too risky. You have the intel. You’re the one who needs to make it back to base.” Dustow glares, but says nothing. “Cassian knows his way around. You need to get back to the ship with the rest. Prepare for takeoff.”

Dustow crosses her arms. “This was _my_ mission.”

“And it’s _my_ mission to get you back alive.” Liana approaches her, puts a hand on her shoulder. “The best way for all of us to succeed is for you to go back to the ship. We’ll see your mission through. It’s win-win, isn’t it?”

With a frown, Dustow shrugs Liana off. But she turns and joins the rest of the team to head back to the ship.

Liana watches her for just a second, then she looks back at Cassian and Kes.

“Let’s go.”

They sweep through the labyrinth of vines and trees until it gives way to warehouses and factories. Something clicks in between the abandoned facility and the bustling warehouse, and all of a sudden they find a rhythm: Cassian navigating, Liana leading. She takes his opinion on routes, trusts his knowledge and judgment implicitly, analyzes what he gives her and plots their way through the obstacle course.

She’s cool whenever she interacts with the Imperials. Lies seamlessly as they work their way deeper into the complex.

Cassian keeps waiting for something to go wrong, for her to take a wrong turn or say the wrong words. He’d certainly expected her to chafe under his presence and the authority it implies. This was supposed to be her mission, and here he is, an outsider, coming in, evaluating, taking over when necessary. But instead they work together, seamlessly—his information and caution balanced by her instinct and courage.

She lies her way into the admin office (we found the intruder, killed in action, discovered she’d installed a bug, we’re here for analysis and repair).

“Stay outside and keep guard.” Cassian hesitates. This would be it, wouldn’t it? If she is a spy, this is her moment to reach out to someone, to give something else away. But if he stays inside, she wouldn’t dare do anything, not if he’s watching over her shoulder. He must take this risk and wait.

So he stands outside, while K-2 and Liana find the code, switch it out for Dustow’s hacked version, and download the manifests.

After ten minutes, the door opens.

“All set,” Liana says.

“I took the liberty of accessing the communications log while we were inside,” K-2 says. Liana’s eyebrows shoot up and Cassian automatically smooths his face into a mask, out of habit; it’s what his face seems to do when he’s tense. But he’s already wearing a mask, and Liana can’t see him. “It appears the northwest watchtower has put out an alert.”

“Were there any communications from this building? Do they know we’re here?”

Both K-2 and Liana cock their heads at him.

“Negative,” K-2 says. “However, my calculations indicate we have sixteen minutes and forty-three seconds to evacuate the base before heightened security will prevent us from leaving.”

Cassian lets go of the sigh he hadn’t realized he was holding.

They’re just nearing the exit for the admin building when an officer hails them over. It’s the officer Liana lied to on their way in. Cassian’s eyes dart around; the surroundings are moderately empty, with some Imperials nearby but not in direct line of sight. There’s a small alcove shielded by a column.

“Why haven’t you reported back to—” the officer starts to say, and in one quick move, Cassian grabs him, hauls him into the alcove, and knocks him over the head with the butt of his blaster.

He looks back and sees Liana’s eyes, wide, her mouth set in a firm line. Then she nods and they exit the building.

For the moment, nothing seems to have changed since they arrived. Cassian and Liana navigate back the way they came. Cassian can’t count the minutes, but he thinks they’re making good time, they may even just make it off the property before—

The alarms go off. They’re three blocks away; they can see the perimeter fence down the road. They can see the gate close, troopers lining up on either side.

Kes looks at Liana, but before he can ask the question on lips, she nods knowingly. He disappears faster than Cassian can protest.

“He’s creating a diversion,” Liana explains when she turns to Cassian. Cassian says nothing and pushes down memories of Blair.

Several minutes later, as they’re nearing the fence, a grenade goes off in the direction of the watchtower.

Liana doesn’t break stride. She marches straight towards the gate. She’s got that officer’s uniform on, and she barks out orders to the troopers standing there, commanding them that they’re needed by the watchtower. Several peel away, towards the direction of the explosion.

She lets three remain. Directs them, and Cassian and K-2, into position along either side of the fence. Interesting choice, but he supposes it makes sense that an officer, a stormtrooper and a KX-series wouldn’t be able to guard this gate on their own. And of course, they’re waiting for Kes.

After about five minutes, she turns to K-2. “Droid. Report. Number of troops in the adjacent block.”

K-2 cocks his head inquisitively. “It’s just us, Sergeant—”

“Thanks.” With the silencer already attached to her blaster, she shoots the other three stormtroopers before they have time to consider being suspicious.

“He should have been back by now,” she says, gesturing towards the control panel. “Kay, open the gate. Get out of here. See if you can contact the ship. I’m going back.”

“No.”

She halts and swivels on her heel, glaring up at Cassian. “No?”

“Troops approaching from the south,” K-2 says, as he plugs into the gate panel. “Estimated arrival one minute and forty-three seconds.”

“We don’t have time,” Cassian says. “If we go back, they’ll catch us all. We need to get that data back to—”

“Right.” She fishes a disk out of her pocket and hands it to him. “And that’s why _I_ am the only one going back.”

The gate slides open.

“You won’t be able to come out this way,” Cassian says. “How will you meet up with the ship?”

“I’ll figure that—”

“There are only three exits along this side of the complex,” K-2 says. “According to the security protocols I downloaded inside, they will all be heavily guarded within three minutes.”

“I’ll figure it out!” Liana says. Her fists are clenched so hard he thinks they may be trembling.

“There’s a waste facility four blocks north. A sewer empties out into the river.”

“There’s a thirty-four percent chance you’ll make it back,” K-2 says.

“I’ll take it.” Liana stares up at him, waiting. Then she adds, quietly, “Get out of here, Captain.”

He pockets the disk and nods. Only then does Liana turn to walk in the direction of the tower.

“If you’re not back when the ship arrives,” K-2 says, “we’re leaving.”

Cassian looks up at Kay, but still says nothing. His knuckles clutch, whiten over the grip of his rifle.

And then they are through the gate and K-2 closes it from the other side; they’re just seconds into the brush when he sees troopers line up along the gate.

He lets out a string of curses under his breath.

This is precisely the recklessness he’s anticipated, and the sort of situation Draven warned against. She’s on her own inside the facility, either dooming herself as she attempts to rescue Dameron or dooming them all if she ends up being a spy. He can’t leave without her. Yet to go back for her would nullify everything they’ve done today. They’d lose the manifest, they may not even succeed in what is still their primary objective as a team: exfiltrate Syenna Dustow.

“Kay, contact the ship, have them meet us just outside the waste facility in twenty minutes.”

K-2 does not respond.

“Kay!”

“I am running diagnostics to see if you have sustained a concussion.”

“Just do it, Kay.”

He races north through the jungle, along the line of the fence but still within the shadow of the trees. To his left, he can hear the river creeping closer, hemming him in, until finally it splashes into view. He pauses from the line of the trees, evaluating. The river sidles up next to the perimeter, where several pipes poke out from the waste facility and empty sludgy contents into the already muddy water.

The trooper armor will probably wick away most of wet mud and sewage. He’s already routed a course towards the largest of the pipes, and he’s almost to it when he passes a narrow, gated staircase practically hidden by underbrush. He nearly missed it, but now he hacks away at the vines and the rusting lock until it breaks and clacks to the stone landing. The gate doesn’t move at first, and then all of a sudden it shrieks open until the hinges break. He tosses it aside, and then he’s charging up the stairs.

He reorients himself at the top, then heads in the direction Kes disappeared to; the area is littered with stormtroopers, how will he ever find him? He can only scan for Liana, in the officer's uniform, and he knew this was a bad, stupid idea, what was he thinking? He should leave, he should go back to Kay, and back to Dustow and _get out of here_ , and that’s when he spots her. A flash of green eyes in a world of gray (there’s no jungle growth here, in the main complex). She and a stormtrooper are huddled in the back of a shallow alley, ducked behind a stack of shipment crates nearly as tall as a person. There’s a wall of ‘troopers coming their way, enclosing upon the alley.

Still in his own stormtrooper disguise, Cassian waves to the troops. “Intruders! This way!”

He leads them down the other way, around a corner, another corner. It’s a matter of seconds but it feels like hours, as he leads, and then falls back into the crowd, and then slips away.

He finds Liana and Dameron by the waste building, running past the alleyway that leads to the staircase.

“To the right!” he shouts, and they whirl around, blasters raised. Ah, crap; he dodges out of the way of Liana’s shot, barely, and then yanks off his helmet.

“Cassian!” she practically hisses, and he catches up with them, yanks them towards the staircase. “You were supposed to stay behind!”

Her bangs are falling out of her bun and they stick to the side of her face. She cranes her neck to glare at him. Sweat trickles down between his shoulder blades, down his back, stings his blaster burn. Instead of reacting to her gaze or her words, he continues forward, down the stairs, careful not to slip on the moss, thanking his lucky stars he didn’t slip going up, he had barely noticed.

He can see a gray blur on the horizon, following the river, before the staircase descends fully into the jungle. They arrive on the riverbank, too exhausted now for words, and their panting is finally drowned up by the hum of the engine, by shouts above.

Cannon fire blasts towards them, towards the ship, as they race up the ramp. It starts closing even as they’re still running up, and their legs are wobbling as they lunge inside.

The engine roars now, as they climb into the atmosphere, meager shots glancing over the ship. TIE fighters appear just seconds before they escape into hyperspace.

And then they’re clear.

#

Lungs burning, legs burning, Cassian stumbles towards a corner at the back of the cabin and leans back against the cool metal seat.

“Did you do it?” Dustow greets them. “Did you do it?”

“Yes,” Liana says, when she catches her breath. “Yes.”

The team erupts into cheers, and Dustow is hugging Liana, and Liana is hugging Dameron. Cassian just stays in the corner, quiet and watching, as Liana and Dameron fill in the crew about what happened. As she tells the story, as he replays the mission in his mind, he rewrites his evaluation in his head. Efficient, effective, calm under pressure. Yes, reckless, but she has heart and she has a will to succeed unlike any he’s seen in the rebellion. Maybe she could make it in intelligence. Maybe she’s what intelligence needs. Maybe she could have saved Blair.

Except.

He still doesn’t know her name.

Eventually she slips away, as the rest of the crew trades stories and glory, describing their perspectives on the day’s adventures. Cassian waits, counts the seconds, and glances around the room until he spots Dameron at the center of the crowd, explaining his role as the diversion. The bundles that he and Dameron had left behind when they’d changed into the stormtrooper uniforms are stacked near the door. He grabs his pack, then follows Jyn.

He finds her in the tiny half-room that’s designated as the makeshift medbay. She’s perched on the narrow ‘bed,’ cross-legged, trying to wrap her right hand with her left.

“Hey,” he says. She looks up as he leans against the door frame. “Need a hand?”

She sighs, and shrugs, and holds out her half-bandaged hand. “Sure. Why not?”

Her fingers are as calloused as his, from pulling triggers and gripping blasters and punching and fighting. He takes off the bandage to start over, and blood trickles over purple knuckles. She’s already applied some ointment, so he re-wraps her hand, tucks the bandage in, tapes it.

“Thanks,” she says, hopping down from the bed. She cocks her head to the side. “What are you here for?”

“Just some pain killers.”

“Didn't you get shot in the back?”

“Just a glance.”

“Turn around,” she says, in the gentle-but-commanding tone he hasn’t heard in a year. He complies.

The blister stings as she peels off the stormtrooper uniform.

“Oh,” she says. Her gaze lingers.

“It’s not that bad.”

“Hand me the medkit.”

This is his chance, this is an opportunity to say something or ask something, but what can he say? What’s your name? Who are you? A hundred questions float on the tip of his tongue and then evaporate. He can’t think when her hands are on his back, smoothing the bacta patch over his skin.

“Why did you do it?” is the question that finally falls out of his mouth. Her hand pauses. He hears the medkit click closed. “Why did you go after him?”

“Cassian…” she says.

He pulls away, rummages through his pack for his shirt, and feels her gaze on him.

“You could have died, you know.” He shrugs into his shirt, pulling it over the patch.

When he turns around to face her, her eyes are burning, and he knows that look though he still doesn’t know her name. (It’s her fire, and he braces himself to bear the brunt of it.) He knows her better than he cares to admit, and yet he barely knows her at all.

Then she sighs. Her voice is soft but her fire hasn’t faded. “So could you.”

His eyebrows shoot up. He barely knows her, indeed. But he wants to know her.

She watches his face, his surprise exposed, and there’s no point in masking it from her now. Their faces (their souls) bare and vulnerable, he reaches up—

Footsteps clatter down the all. The door is still open. He drops his hand.

“See you later,” she says, as he leaves the room. He knows what it means.


	5. Yavin 4

Jyn can’t sit still.

The trip back to Yavin 4 stretches to eternity. Taking a roundabout way protects the location of the base, protects their lives, but ever since she’s left the medbay the ship has felt crowded. Buzzing with too many bodies and too many words and too many feelings all clustered in one place.

Cassian has commandeered her usual spot in the corner, and she can’t sit there with him, not when her fingertips still burn where they touched his skin. Not when his mask is firmly fixed in place after she’d seen it dissolve moments ago. Not when she hears his voice directing them to safety because _he came back…_

So she walks about the ship. Declutters the cabin. Consolidates blasters. Checks equipment. Menial tasks that the troops usually do, but she lets them celebrate their success. As she works, the noise fades, their adrenaline dissipates, and one by one the soldiers drift off to sleep.

She runs out of tasks.

She paces where the corridor meets the cabin and eyes the empty seat next to Cassian. He’s fallen asleep. She has never truly appreciated how gentle his face becomes when he sleeps, not until now, after she’s spent a day in combat with him.

“I’d stay away from that one.”

Syenna sits to her left. She’s spoken so quietly that the sound doesn’t wake anyone and it takes Jyn a second to register what she actually said.

“Pardon?” Jyn doesn’t turn her whole body, just her head, as she cranes her neck to meet Syenna’s gaze.

“If you’re looking for a seat. There’s one over here.”

Jyn just eyes her, waiting.

“You can’t read a spy,” Syenna says. “But we can read you. We give away nothing and take everything. And he is the best of us. The worst of us.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jyn says.

Syenna shrugs.

Something twists in Jyn’s gut. Something related to her mother and her father and the name (her name) that no one has spoken in years. She’s been Liana Hallik for six years now, and only her mother calls her Jyn. And her gut twists harder.

What would Cassian do if he figured out her secret?

But she shoots down that thought, burns it, stamps it out, throws out the ashes. She turns on her heel and finds her way back to the medbay, finds the narrow bed and slides into it. Sleep comes immediately.

#

She wakes to a rumbling stomach, after a deep, black sleep that is devoid of thoughts and dreams.

In the cockpit, their pilot informs her they’re ten minutes from base. She rouses them; sleep evaporates like morning mist chased away by the sun, and gradually the cabin fills with chatter. Softer this time, more subdued than the cheers and eager storytelling from before.

By the time they file down the ramp, there’s a bounce in each of their steps, fueled even further when Melshi greets them. The chatter and jubilance merges with the noise of the hangar. They’ve returned during dinnertime and a shift change, so the bays bustle with droids and crew.

Her team drifts towards the mess, but Jyn, Cassian and Syenna each have reports they need to write. Jyn waves off her team, promising to join them in the cafeteria, and then searches for a secluded corner to type up her report.

#

It takes an hour to write, another ten minutes to shower and rinse away the sweat and jungle grime. Her bandage unravels in the water; she sloppily replaces it, and doesn’t think about Cassian’s fingers brushing hers.

By the time she reaches the mess, it’s mostly empty. She can’t decide if she’s pleased or bothered. Since she first landed on Yavin 4, the temple has swarmed with people, even though teams have only been trickling in for a week. She’s never seen so many rebels in one place, not even on Dantooine. And she hasn’t changed her mind about the dangers of such outposts like Dantooine and now Yavin 4, but… something feels different, this time around.

She can’t place it, can’t place the difference, but she does spot her mother and Kes and a few other Pathfinders. In the opposite corner of the mess, next to the bar, they’ve pushed together several tables along the wall, where one side of the table is a booth and the other side is lined with chairs.

“There she is,” Kes says as she approaches. “About time. We were about to mount a second rescue and save you from paperwork.”

She slides into the booth side across from Kes and her mother. Empty trays and empty glasses congregate at the end of the table. Kes and Lyra are each halfway through what appears to be their second round of drinks, and Lyra has already heard the basics of the mission, the bare bones of it that they can tell, but she makes Jyn repeat what she can, anyways, wants to hear it from her daughter’s mouth.

Jyn’s finished her story, her food, and her first glass when she sees Cassian enter through the far door.

Kes follows her gaze, and Lyra follows his.

“So the man eats after all,” Kes mutters. “I didn’t think he’d join us.”

“Friend of yours?” Lyra asks Kes, and Jyn suddenly remembers, years ago, her mother asking the same question.

Kes snorts. “Only friend he has is that KX-series.” Kes pauses then, thoughtful. _Oh no_ , Jyn thinks. _Don’t say it. Don’t think it._ “And maybe Li, here. You two seemed to get on quite well today.”

Jyn glares at him.

“Oh, did he accompany you on the mission?”

Jyn’s energy is laser-focused on Kes, but she knows that tone well enough to guess her mother’s expression without looking at her. She’s sporting that “polite casual interest but I already know what you’re not telling me” look. (Lyra Erso is not a spy, not in the business of acquiring intelligence, except when it comes to her daughter, and in that regard, there is no spy more acquainted with their subject.)

Jyn contemplates kicking Kes under the table.

“He was our guide,” Kes finally answers. He seems unfazed by Jyn’s glare, but she’s patient.

“He should join us,” Lyra says, and Jyn’s focus breaks. She looks back at her mother.

“That’s not necessary…”

“Sure, he’s a member of your team—”

“We wouldn’t be here without him,” Kes says, and Jyn whips back to stare at him again. “He saved our lives today.”

Lyra’s gaze shifts into something more blatantly amused. “Saved your life, and you didn’t even mention him.”

Jyn shrugs and drains one last drop from her glass. “Time to top up,” she says, getting up from the table.

“Get him a drink,” Lyra says, passing Jyn some credits. “On me. For the man who saved my daughter’s life.”

She takes the credits, clenching them in her fist, and doesn’t look Cassian’s way. It’s not until she’s walking back to their table, a drink in each hand, that she looks up and catches his eye.

Cassian’s tray is piled high; he’s just left the line and seems to be evaluating where to sit. He spots the beer in her hand. She sighs and waves him over.

It’s a good thing she ordered herself a drink stronger than beer.

Two Pathfinders slip away as Cassian slides in next to Jyn. It's just the four of them now, and it feels strange to be next to him when Kes and her mother are sitting across from them, staring.

“Got you a drink,” she says, handing Cassian a bottle of that same beer she’d been drinking the night she picked him up. He eyes both the bottle and the glass in her other hand.

“Thanks,” he says stiffly.

There’s an awkward pause before Kes shoots Jyn a look and says, “Winni, this is Captain Andor. Captain, this is Liana’s mother, Winni.”

“We’ve met,” her mother says. “How have you been, Cassian?”

He shrugs. “Alright. And you?”

“Just alright?” Lyra says. “Liana and Kes were just telling me about your mission. Shouldn’t we be celebrating?”

“For Captain Andor, ‘alright’ means ecstatic.”

Jyn notices his frown before he hides it by taking a gulp of beer.

“I heard you saved my daughter’s life,” Lyra says. Her smile is warm. Sweet. Jyn is used to facing challenges and fears head on; she has no strategy for combating this. Running is a last resort, but right now finding a nice hole to hide in and live in for the rest of her days doesn’t sound so bad. And she’s lived in a hole before.

Cassian shrugs again. “It’s what she would have done for me.”

Lyra turns her gaze to Jyn, and it’s reset to that assessing mother gaze. Jyn’s fingers clutch the edge of her seat. It’s a booth, but it’s still hard metal, and it’s cold and slick beneath her palms.

“Are you settling well in the new base?” Cassian asks.

“Here we go,” Jyn mutters. But relief floods through her, and she returns her mother’s smile. There’s a monologue at the tip of Lyra’s tongue; Jyn knows it, but does Cassian? Does he know how skillfully he’s changed the subject?

“Yes, thank you for asking,” Lyra says. “Did you know this temple is five thousand years old? And it’s still standing. A good choice for the rebellion, I think.”

“Five thousand years old,” he repeats. “Really?”

And that’s when the history lesson begins. As her mother speaks, Jyn chances a look at Cassian. He’s still finishing his food, but at one point in between bites, he catches her eye and sends her a half smile. He knows what he’s done.

_Tactical brilliance_ , Jyn thinks. _Gold star for the spy master._

Still, she can’t have her mother going on forever. She does have plans for tonight, after all.

She picks up her glass as she says, “What do you think, Kes? A drink for every fact we’ve already heard?”

He smiles, kindly, and glances at her mother. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Li. I find this fascinating.”

“Suck up. But there’s no extra credit, right Professor?” she winks at her mother.

“If anyone needs extra credit, it’s you, darling.”

Kes laughs. “Cold,” he says. “I see where you get it from, Sarge.”

Jyn huffs. Takes another swig. She’s almost at the bottom, and despite herself, a smile is hovering at the corner of her lips. She puts down her cup. “Surrounded by enemies. What do you say, Cassian? Are you with me?”

“It’d be foolish to go against a person who can take down nine stormtroopers on her own.”

Jyn beams and Kes scoffs, laughingly.

“Although I suppose that means you can handle yourself. And I do have a meeting with Mothma in the morning…” He pauses, scratches his beard. “So with that in mind, Officer Hallik… I’d _love_ to hear more about the original purpose of the temple.”

Lyra bursts out laughing. Jyn tries very hard to tamp down the smile breaking free on her own face, but the alcohol seems to have glued it on. She can’t frown at her mother’s grin, not when it’s so rare. Even Cassian allows himself a smile.

“Well, Captain,” Lyra says, pushing away from the table. Her smile lingers, but Jyn can see fatigue seeping into the corners of her eyes. “That’s a subject for the next class. It’s been a long day for me. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Dodged a blastbolt,” Jyn says out of the corner of her mouth.

“Kes,” Lyra says. “Isn’t Shara flying in tomorrow? You want to rest up, too?”

Kes glances at the time and jumps up. “You’re right. Thanks, Winni.”

“Don’t stay up too late,” Lyra says over her shoulder.

“Actually,” Jyn says, loudly enough so her mother can still hear as she walks away, “It’s time for me to…”

“What’s the point?” Cassian says. He slides out of the booth. “They already know we’re sleeping together.”

Jyn grits her teeth and says nothing. Instead she watches her mother and Kes disappear, watches their backs and watches the wall, anything to hide the flush in her cheeks.

When she finally turns back to Cassian, he’s waiting at the bar. He returns with a bottle of beer and a glass of what she’s been drinking.

“Figured I’d return the favor,” he says, handing her the glass.

“You shouldn’t have,” she says. “My mother paid for yours.”

He pauses. For a split second, his spy mask flickers, and she catches confusion before he recovers. “That was nice of her,” he says.

“She figured it was the least she could do,” Jyn says, surprising herself. “Since you saved my life.”

“Ah.”

He takes a chug of his beer. Jyn follows suit.

They sit, staring away from each other, clutching their drinks. They’re each halfway through when Jyn breaks the silence.

“Kes has a wife.” She pauses. He arches an eyebrow. Her hand finds the crystal around her neck and her fingers trace over the ridges and curves of the stone. “And I see the look in my mother’s eyes sometimes, when she thinks … when she thinks of my father.”

Her fingers stop rubbing the crystal and instead she grips it. And she finds his eyes. Surely he must be confused, yet he says nothing, his face gives away nothing.

“When I was eight years old,” she says. “An Imperial officer came to our farm and took my father away. We knew he’d come, and we had a plan… but my father stayed behind to stall, to give us more time to get away. My mother and I fled and hid until S—.” She swallows. “Until someone came to rescue us.

She pauses and takes a deep breath, but doesn’t look away. “I could see it in my mother’s eyes, that day on the farm. She wanted to run back to rescue him. I think maybe she almost did. And I still see it in her eyes today, the regret, the wonder.” Her own eyes burn fierce. “I won’t let that happen to Kes and Shara. I won’t let it happen to _anyone_ …

“To answer your question, that’s why I went after Kes.”

She can hear her heartbeat in her ears, feel the thud in her chest. Cassian says nothing, just stares at her, his expression unreadable. What has she done? Syenna’s words echo in her head, snickering.

“I’ve been fighting since I was six,” he says finally. And she allows herself to breathe again. “It wasn’t even the rebellion yet. A year later, the Clone Wars ended, but our war was only getting started. The things we had do back then, at the beginning, clawing and scratching just to get to the start line, just to get a chance, a foothold…”

He shakes his head. His smooth mask falls away again, and suddenly he looks so old, so tired, and his eyes are far away.

Jyn has an idea of what he means, from her years with Saw. She knows that Saw shielded her from his crueler actions. She wonders what she would have become had she stayed with him.

Again, Syenna’s words echo in her head. _We give away nothing and take everything._

She watches him, her heart a lump in her throat, trying to convince herself that Cassian has some motive here, some spy game the she can’t unravel.

“I’ve never gone back for anyone,” he admits. “And I’m starting to wonder. What is it that I’m trying to protect, if I don’t…” He clears his throat. “That’s why I went after you.”

It doesn’t fix her heart; only rattles it more.

She looks away, stares across the empty cafeteria. The bartender has left. “The things we do in the name of the rebellion… why do we do it?”

“Hope,” he says quietly.

“Hope?” That wasn’t the answer she was expecting.

“Hope that other people wouldn’t have to.” He pauses. “Rebellions are built on hope.”

She looks back at him, that feeling coming over her again. Like something is different this time, Yavin 4 is different from Dantooine. That’s what the difference is. Hope. Hope is what buzzes in the hangar before missions. Hope is the spring in the steps of the new recruits, bright-eyed recruits who haven’t seen the war that Jyn and Cassian have, who believe they can make a difference. Hope is the green glow on Mothma’s face in the control room and the blinding white on Princess Leia’s dress.

Hope is the spark in Cassian’s eyes and the ember in her chest.

#

She doesn’t remember the walk to his quarters. One second they’re in the mess, and the next they’re in his room. The moment the door closes, she takes his shirt in her fists to pull him down and leans up on her toes to kiss him. His arms find her waist, her arms slide around his neck, and in one fluid motion, as if coordinated, she pushes off the ground as he lifts, and her legs wrap around him. He braces her against the wall, and he kisses her and kisses her and kisses her.

They find their way to the bed through a whirl of discarded clothes, and kisses, and touches. They move together, in sync, in memory, in longing. They still know each other, know the secrets of their skin, their bodies. After days and weeks and months, across lightyears and star systems, they find each other, they collide in fire and heaven.

“Cassian,” she says, and she knows she’s never said his name before, but it slips out. She’s always been able to lose herself before, it’s part of the reason she kept seeing him, to forget herself, to forget everything, to be free, but she’s never come this far before. She’s perched on a precipice, and she doesn’t know what’s beyond but she just might fling herself into that unknown. She wants to know him and she wants him to know her.

“Li…” he says, and it’s distracting, it’s not her name, she wants to hear her name...

“Jyn,” she says, quiet, almost soundless against his ear. “Call me Jyn.”

He doesn’t miss a beat, “Jyn,” he says, like a prayer, and she’s gone, gone… and somewhere she hears his own bliss, far away and one with her, and all she thinks of are stars, shining and bright and white.

#

He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until he wakes, cold, the bed empty beside him. Through heavy eyelids, through lashes, he looks up and sees her standing away from the bed, watching him as she slips back into her pants. She’s biting her lip and he thinks it doesn’t seem like her, to be so hesitant and vulnerable.

And then he remembers.

Jyn.

It fits her, in a way that Liana never really had. Jyn. He repeats it in his head, as he gazes up at her. He wants to say it over and over again, to make up for all the times he called her Liana. But he’s still half-asleep, half dreaming, and he says nothing.

She turns away, bends down to pick up her shirt.

If he doesn’t do something, she’ll be gone. He forces himself to sit up.

“Jyn,” he says, relishing the name on his tongue. “Is that a nickname?”

She shrugs on her shirt.

“No,” she says finally. “It’s my real name.”

She paces towards the door, then back, then she pauses and finally, she sits down on the edge his bed. Clears her throat.

“You don’t have to explain…” He surprises himself; he means it. He’ll have to figure out something to tell Draven. Since he was six years old, he’s always, always put the mission first. But how long will that sustain him?

She peers at him, searching his eyes for a lie, trying to decipher him with her gaze. Against every instinct, he lets her. Startled, she glances down at her hands.

“I’m not used to people sticking around,” she says finally. Her hand finds the crystal she wears at her neck. The same habit from last night.

“My father is Galen Erso.”

Again she watches him, evaluating. His mind races. He’s let down his mask, but if he lets her see his surprise, his _shock_ , will that scare her away? And if he smooths out his expression, will that encourage her suspicion?

What about his suspicion? The Klonoid tip is true—at least partially. Galen Erso. An Imperial weapons scientist. Is she an Imperial spy? He still doesn’t think so.

But others have. He’s not the first rebel to know her secret. Whoever had rescued her must have known. Whoever reported the tip on Klonoid knew. And now he knows.

And that’s why she stares him down now. She’s waiting to see what he’ll do. If he’ll turn her in.

“You know the name?” she asks, because he’s been sitting here, quiet, for once at a loss of what to do. He knows what Captain Andor the intelligence agent would have done yesterday. But he doesn’t know what he’s going to do now.

“Yes,” he says. Other pieces of the puzzle of Liana Hallik—of _Jyn Erso_ —fall into place. Galen Erso, friend of Saw Gerrera. _“I’ve been fighting this rebellion more than half my life.”_

Saw Gerrera. Was he the one who rescued them when the Imperials came? How old did she say she’d been? Eight. She’s been fighting since she was eight. She learned to fight with Saw Gerrera. She’s taken a new name (Tanith Pontha, Liana Hallik, who knows how many more?) for every time someone figured out her real identity.

And what strikes him the most isn’t suspicion, but understanding. Their lives run in parallel: parental loss, child soldiers, false identities.

_“The things we do in the name of the rebellion… why do we do it?”_

Her eyes burn fierce. “You think I’m a spy?”

As he looks back at her, her eyes burning, watery, her face exposed and vulnerable, he knows, unequivocally, that she’s not. He had believed her the day that he met her. ( _“I’m here to fight the Empire.”_ ) And now he understands what has fueled the fire in her: vengeance. She wants revenge for the life they’d taken from her. That’s a common enough story in the rebellion.

But what isn’t common is who her father is, and that could be dangerous.

Pellen will return from Klonoid soon enough. What information will she find? What will she reveal to Draven?

“I’m not the one you gotta convince.”

Her eyes widen, like one of the lemur-type creatures of Yavin 4 caught in the headlights of a ship powering up. She’s thinking he’s going to betray her the way all those others have. And she’s revealing something else, too, by trusting him with this information.

Damn.

She’s watching him, waiting for him to say something. His mouth is dry and stale and he has to think of something to say. Does he tell her everything? Bare his soul like she’s bared hers? Admit that he was investigating her, that she’s in danger, that he’s already, in some respect, committed the same betrayal that all those others have? What will happen if he does that? Will she flee again, change her name again? But she’s safe here, what if he could convince her of that? She doesn’t need to keep running if she admits the truth.

He’s taken too long. She shifts back to the end of the bed.

“You already knew, didn’t you?” She looks away. “You didn’t flinch when I told you my name. You just went with it.”

“I didn’t know your name,” he says quickly, and she looks at him out of the corner of her eyes. “But I knew it wasn’t Liana.”

The room stays silent, but the silence feels like a roar, deafening.

“How long have you known?”

“About two days. Melshi recommended you for a position in Intelligence. I was assigned to do your background check.”

She stiffens. “Is that what you’re doing now? Is that what this is?”

“No.”

“Have you told anyone yet?”

He looks away, down at the floor. “Yes. General Draven. And…” She stares. Waits. “He’s assigned another agent to investigate a lead on Klonoid regarding the daughter of an Imperial weapons scientist.”

She curses the very name of the author of the tip. Then she stands, paces.

“You don’t have to run again,” he says. “Turn yourself in.”

She rounds on him. “Turn myself in?” Her wry laugh grates against him. “Our names change, but the story doesn’t. No matter what we do, how much mama and I help the rebellion, someone finds out. And then we become a liability. A threat. I’ve never done anything wrong. I’ve only ever helped this rebellion, everything I do is to _protect_ people who are exploited by the Empire, I…”

“I know, Jyn.” He doesn’t break her gaze, but she blinks when he says her name. “I know.”

She sighs and sits back down on the bed, and he slides over, slowly, giving her time to stop him, and takes her hand.

“You’re home, here,” he says softly. When she looks up at him, she’s soft and vulnerable again and his chest aches. “Tell the truth. You’ll be safe. I promise.”

“What, you’ll protect me?” Something bitter laces her tone.

“Of course I would,” he says, hesitantly, knowing he’s walking into some kind of trap that he can’t disarm. She scoffs. “But my point is that I don’t have to. As you said, everything you’ve done is to help the rebellion.” He repeats, “This is your home.”

She sighs. For a moment, all he senses is the tension in her, as if she’s ready to bolt. And then it drains out of her, and she leans into him. He wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her in and kisses the top of her head. The ache in his chest flutters into something like hope, and he knows he’s doomed.

#

“Let me find my mother,” she says, later, outside his door. He hesitates. “You think I’m going to run?”

“The possibility has crossed my mind,” he admits.

“Trust goes both ways.” Again she fixes him with that look. She’s daring him to lie to her. To slip into the spy again. “Let me talk to her, explain. I can’t do it with you there.”

He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. It goes against every piece of logic, every rule that he’s operated by over the last two decades, but something in his gut tells him to trust her. Jyn doesn’t play by his rules and his logic, anyways, and if he’s going to convince her she’s safe, what other choice does he have? It’s a risk that he must take.

“Meet me in command in an hour.”

#

“Mama, we have to go.”

Jyn wastes no time, the words fly out of her mouth the second she enters her mother’s chambers. It’s early in the morning, she knows her mother’s exhausted, but there’s no _time_. She only has an hour before they’ll come looking.

“Jyn? What’s going on?”

The light switches on, and Jyn finds a pack, starts filling it with clothes. “They’ve found us out again.”

“What? Who?” Her mother sits up, squinting.

“Intelligence. They know who we are. We have to get out of here.” She reaches the bottom drawer, kneels down and scoops the contents of it from the drawer to the bag.

“Jyn. Slow down.”

“We don’t have _time_ , he’s—”

“Jyn Erso!”

She freezes at her mother’s tone and looks back at her, over her shoulder. Lyra hauls herself out of bed and kneels in front of her daughter. Takes her hands.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

Her lip quivers so she bites down on it, blinks away tears threatening in her eyes. He’s gone and ripped off the hatch to her cave, exploded it open and she’s hasn’t felt this exposed since that day when they’d sprinted to the cave and closed the door over their heads and waited in darkness. She’s lost in that day, lost in her mother’s arms again, sobbing and _they don’t have time for this_.

“Jyn,” her mother says again, wiping her bangs from her eyes.

“I’m sorry, mama,” she says, so quiet even she can barely hear herself. “I told him. I told him who we were. I told him about papa.”

“You told who?” her mother asks, gently. Jyn is sure she already knows, but her mother must make her say it.

“Cassian.”

“Why?”

Jyn can’t answer that, except to look at her mother. “Oh, Jyn.” Her mother hugs her closer, kisses the top of her head, _just like Cassian had._  She stiffens, wriggles out of her mother’s grip.

“We have to go,” she repeats, wiping at her face.

“What did he say, when you told him?”

Jyn freezes for a second time.

“Jyn? What did he say?”

She sighs, leans back against the bed. But she still can’t answer her mother, can’t trust herself to speak.

“What have I done,” Lyra says, scooting over next to her daughter. She kicks the bag away with her feet. “We’ve run too many times. But where would we go next, do you think? Turn our backs on the entire rebellion? That’d be the only option, you know. Is that what you want?”

The floor glints in the light and Jyn stares at the shine of it.

“All those years, running from planet to planet, from rebel group to rebel group. Of all those places, where would you rather be?” Lyra takes her daughter’s hand. “This place feels like home to me.”

Of course it does; on Yavin 4, in the belly of an ancient temple, her mother is at home in history.

But for Jyn, home was a farm on Lah’Mu. An apartment in Coruscant. Home is a place that no longer exists.

But Cassian’s voice in her head echoes her mother’s.

She’s shaking.

“Jyn?”

“That’s what he said,” she finally says. “‘This is your home.’ He told me they’d understand, but _we_ have to go to them first. Tell them ourselves. We have to do it quickly. There’s an agent returning from Klonoid.”

Her mother scowls; she can guess what that means. And then the whole story spills from Jyn’s lips: Melshi’s recommendation, Cassian’s background check, the mission on Horuz, and finally Jyn’s own mistake, her revelation, her weakness.

“Love isn’t weakness, darling,” her mother says gently. Jyn’s eyes widen, and she starts to protest, but her mother puts up a hand. “You trust him?”

She frowns and looks away. “I trusted papa. And Saw. And everyone else…” She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. They all leave in the end.”

With a sigh, Lyra says, “I told Saw to go.”

The words might as well be in a foreign language. “What?”

“Saw and I had a discussion,” her mother says, softly, slowly, avoiding Jyn’s eyes. “The night before we left. It’s difficult to hide two people, you know. And other rebels were starting to figure things out. He would have kept us on, if that’s what we wanted. But…”

Now she looks back at Jyn. “But you were twelve years old, and you were making bombs, and you were learning how to fight, and he was using you to sneak into places, and…” She pauses, steadies her voice. A tear trails down her cheek. “I made a choice, Jyn, that day on Lah’Mu. I chose you. And I couldn’t let you become like Saw.”

The world is spinning again, like the day when they left the Partisans. Everything she’s believed has been a lie. Saw didn’t leave them. _They_ left _him._

“I was protecting you,” her mother adds, so quiet Jyn can barely hear the words.

“You were protecting me?” Jyn says, unable to keep her voice from rising. “So you dragged me from rebel cell to rebel cell to _protect me_?” She stands. She paces, like a rockcat, circling its prey, preparing to pounce. “Why couldn’t we have settled down in some backwater planet in the Outer Rim? You wanted this fight as much as I did. You’re still chasing papa, still trying to find him—”

“Of course I am!” her mother yells back, and Jyn has rarely seen her mother yell. She halts. They stare at each other in breathless silence. The seconds tick by.

“I’m tired of other people making decisions for me,” Jyn says. “Papa. You. Cassian.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m leaving.” Jyn turns, picks up her pack, continues filling it.

“Where are you going to go?” But Jyn can hear the defeat in her mother’s voice.

“Home.”

“This is your home. Wherever we are together is home.”

“Then come with me.”

“How can you abandon the work you’ve done? Your friends here?”

Jyn doesn’t answer out loud. She has other friends, she wants to say, friends that Lyra pulled her from. Other friends who were abandoned. She can’t make everyone happy.

“What about Cassian?”

The strap of the bag is not sharp, but it cuts into Jyn’s hands as she grips it. Her mother knows nothing about what’s between her and Cassian Andor, it’s not fair to bring him up.

Cassian betrayed her, is what he’d done. He’d done what all the other rebels had done when they discovered she wasn’t who she said she was. He’d have her turn herself in, to the discretion of General Davits Draven? What does he know about what it’s like to be linked to a name like Galen Erso? An Imperial weapons scientist.

But that’s not really what gnaws at her heart. Those are the lies she wraps around the truth, that she uses to bury the truth deep in her cave, where she can reseal the hole that Cassian wrenched open. There’s a truth she can’t bear to face, hiding in the shadows of that cave. It’s the truth written on her mother’s face when she thinks of papa. The truth about what rebellions do to friendships and love.

She hoists the bag over her shoulder.

“Tell him I’m sorry.”

#

It’s been one hour, seven minutes, and thirty-four seconds. Draven and Mothma and Dodonna stare at him. It’s early in the morning, sure, but he’d found them all here just the same. He’d only expected Draven, but this will be better. Mothma will cool any ire Draven might exhibit. And besides, Lyra Erso has been working for her.

Except that neither Jyn nor her mother have arrived yet.

“It’s been a long night,” Draven says, through gritted teeth. “And I expect it’ll be a long day. What is it that couldn’t go in your report?”

“It’s about Liana Hallik, General,” Cassian says, slowly, feeling like a traitor. When he blinks, he sees Blair. _Come on, Jyn. Where are you?_

Dodonna looks up. “One of the Pathfinders, yes? Lieutenant Melshi’s team. I’ve heard good things about her.”

Draven and Mothma say nothing; the former simply stares through slitted eyes, his arms crossed. Mothma might even be drifting to sleep as she stands, leaning against the conference table.

The door opens, Cassian looks up, but it’s just an aide.

“General,” he says. “Agent Pellen is on the line.”

Draven turns a pointed gaze to Cassian. “If we’re done here…” he drawls, and then the door bursts open again.

He sees the mess of brown hair first, the slight frame, and he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. It may be the shadows, but he swears he sees Mothma’s eyebrow twitch, just slightly. Maybe she’s not dozing.

But it’s Lyra Erso that joins them at the table. Alone. A crystal gleaming, hanging from her neck. Eyes rimmed in red.

He waits only a second, but no one follows her.

He doesn’t even think about the trouble it’ll bring him later. He sprints out of command.

He navigates the maze that is Yavin 4 with ease, but still he can feel the seconds ticking by. Every person in his way is an obstacle, an enemy, and he ignores their shouts of alarm and indignation. He bursts into the hangar, scanning and searching as he runs, until he gets to the bay doors just in time to see a ship blast off.

And that’s when the world crashes around him.

#

A mistake. He made a mistake.

He confirms with ground control that it was Liana Hallik that took off, that she’d said she was on a mission for Melshi and she’s trusted enough around here, but still… he runs his hand through his hair and it doesn’t matter what stupid choices the ground crew makes, he’s the one that’s going to take the heat for this.

Him, and Lyra Erso.

It’s Lyra that confesses, Lyra that names her husband, and her daughter, and herself. Lyra tells the same story that Jyn had, just hours ago.

The long night stretches into the morning. By the time Cassian returns to command, Draven has whisked Lyra away for interrogation, sending troops to search for Jyn.

But Cassian knows they won’t find her.

“You’re dismissed, Captain,” Draven says, in the tone that promises a lecture later. Perhaps he’s overdue for one anyways. He may be lucky not to be court-martialed or demoted. He’d gone specifically against Draven’s orders. _Avoid tipping your hand. Bring her in for questioning._

He shouldn’t have told her. He shouldn’t have let her out of his sight.

“Come on, Captain Andor. I’ll walk you out.” Mothma is gentle, but firm, her specialty. Defeated, Cassian follows her.

“I promised her she’d be safe,” he says, when they’re outside the command room. “I told her this was her home.”

Mothma puts a hand on his shoulder. But even she has no words of wisdom for him.

#

Draven holds Lyra for two days. When Cassian hands in the addendum to his report, Draven gives him leave and tells him not to come around until it’s over.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself, when he’s not serving. He wanders the halls of the base, fiddles with his ship (a puzzle to K-2, who insists it’s in perfect running order), and reads through all the data files they have on Galen Erso. It’s not much. Mostly data on his work twenty years ago. He discovers Jyn was born in a prison; she came out of the womb at the mercy of an enemy.

During dinner on the second day, Kes Dameron sits down in front of him, slamming down his tray.

“Where is she?” he says, accusations bubbling up in his tone.

Cassian looks up slowly, donning his spy mask, not giving in to intimidation, not showing any signs of surprise. “Where is who?”

He can tell, watching Kes’ fists clench, that it takes every fiber of his being not to lunge across the table. “Liana Hallik.”

“I don’t know,” Cassian says.

“What did you do to her?”

Nothing. Everything. Deep in his gut he worries he’s betrayed her far worse than anyone in her life ever has.

“You were the last person I saw her with. She’s been missing since we got back from Horuz. If you so much as hurt a hair on her body—”

Cassian Andor is trained not to give in to his emotions, to not _have_ emotions. He is a tool, a cog in the works, and in order to keep the machine going he must be like a machine. Cool, collected, efficient.

But it’s been two days since he’s seen Jyn (since he gave her up), only two days into the vague infinity of “he’ll never see her again,” and it’s the very thing that’s kept him from sleeping, the possibility that anything that might happen to her now is his fault, and he’ll never even know what happens.

So he stands up, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s gripping Dameron’s shirt in his fist and Dameron wants a fight, too, he can see it in his eyes.

“Let him go, Cassian.”

He’s more startled than anything, and he lets go of Dameron’s shirt and turns to see Lyra Erso.

She speaks to him like she knows him, like she’s chastising her son.

“Kes,” she says, still stern. “Could you excuse us?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, nodding at her, sending a parting glare towards Cassian.

Lyra settles in Dameron’s place.

He braces himself for the lecture coming. He knows he deserves it.

“I’m sorry.” She sighs. “This is my fault.”

His jaw drops. What is this power that the Ersos have, to keep surprising him?

“With all due respect, ma’am,” he says. “I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

“For what?” Lyra says, and her tone is both somber and wry. “Loving her?”

Her face cracks into a smile when he starts to protest, and she waves her hand. “I know, there’s no room for love in a rebellion.” Her smile is gone as quickly as it appeared. “Jyn told you about me, didn’t she? About what I’ve done? I left her father behind, and he left us behind, and all Jyn can see is the pain of abandonment. She misses what the sacrifice was for…”

Lyra searches his face for something, but what can he say to that? He says nothing. Waits for her to finish. But she doesn’t start speaking right away, instead digs into her tray of food.

“I wish you’d found us out sooner,” she admits after a moment. “Turns out you’re missing quite a bit of useful intelligence on my husband. Maybe if I’d have come forward, we could have helped him somehow.”

She sighs. “I don’t know where she went, by the way. I have a guess, but even I don’t know what Saw Gerrera is up to these days. Maybe you do.”

He has contacts. He could find Saw. It wouldn’t be hard, especially if it meant finding her. He could reach out to someone _right now._

Lyra shakes her head. “But if she is with Saw, he won’t give her up without a fight. Do _you_ want to join Saw’s forces? Because that’s what it would take.”

Now he hesitates.

_“The things we do in the name of the rebellion… why do we do it?”_

How could she do it? How could she turn her back on the rebellion (on her friends, on him, on her mother) and return to Saw Gerrera? After everything she’d said about being left behind?

He’s done many things for the rebellion that he wishes he could forget. But Saw’s tactics are another level. And why would Jyn go back to that, after all the good she’s done for the rebellion?

Lyra seems to read his mind. “Saw was like a father to her. He hid many of the things he did from her, back then. I don’t think she understands what she’s getting herself into.”

“How could you let her go?”

It’s not fair of him to ask because he still knows it’s his fault, still thinks that Lyra has every right to ask the same question of him. But it slips off his tongue.

She bites her lip, in a way that reminds him of Jyn. He can see tears welling up in her eyes. She crosses her arms and looks away.

Very quietly, she says, “I hoped she wouldn’t go through with it. I was wrong.”

That makes two of them, he supposes.

“I still hope,” she continues. “That she’ll come back. In the meantime… we have a mission for you. A mission might solve everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter kicks off the events of Rogue One!
> 
> Also, I had drafted up to this chapter before I started posting... we are now entering territory that I haven't written yet, so it may take a little longer between posts. 
> 
> Thanks everyone for the comments and kudos!


	6. Jedha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, dialogue in italics was from the Rogue One novelization by Alexander Freed. I retained some of it for scenes that wouldn't have been altered by the canon divergence.

_“Someone named Erso sent him.”_

His jaw clenches at the sound of the name. Tivik dances on his feet, eyeing the alleyway, but Cassian barely notices.

It’s been a year. A year of broken leads, dead ends, all part of the wild goose chase that Lyra and Draven have put him on. Galen Erso was the start of it, with Lyra’s intelligence, and now that he hears that name again, here, now, he hopes that maybe this is the end of it.

“Was it Galen Erso?” he asks. He’s too strung out to subdue his intensity, but even still, it doesn’t shake the name from Tivik’s lips. Tivik doesn’t know. Tivik wants to run away.

It’s been a year of loose threads: Galen Erso, a weapon, a planet killer, kyber crystals, Jedha, Saw Gerrera. All these pieces swirl in his mind around an image of Jyn sitting on his bed, her own kyber crystal clutched beneath white knuckles, telling him about her father the Imperial scientist just hours after they’d left the warehouse on Horuz that was so clearly manufacturing products for a fleet, for a space station, bigger than anything they’d ever imagined.

“ _They’re going to leave without me_ ,” Tivik says, more insistently.

It’s been a year of limbo, of waiting and wondering. A year since he saw her, since she went back for Dameron on Horuz and he went back for her. A year since she left them all behind.

Before him, Tivik practically vibrates in his eagerness to leave. Thousands of questions float on the tip of Cassian’s tongue, but he doesn’t know where to start.

“Go,” Cassian says instead, and relief washes over Tivik’s face. “Quickly.”

Tivik vanishes down the alley, fades into the crowd, and not a moment too soon. Just seconds after he’s gone, two stormtroopers walk by. They glance his way for just a second before moving on.

Galen Erso. Saw Gerrera. Jedha.

It’s been a year, and he doesn’t think it will be much longer.

#

The ride back to Yavin 4 certainly feels longer. He’s got to cross the entire galaxy. If he could, he’d go straight to Jedha instead. But Saw Gerrera has no reason to entertain Cassian Andor; he needs a way in. And while his intelligence, his extrapolations, his gut all tell him that Jyn is there, is living in Saw’s headquarters (whatever passes for headquarters for an extremist rebel cell), there’s no guarantee she would see him.

And so Lyra Erso must come along. And that means a long ride back to Yavin 4, and a long time to think.

Most of the time, when he thinks of Jyn, he only thinks of her in the abstract, in terms of a mission to locate her whereabouts. It’s all he allows himself to think. Any other thoughts or feelings are classified and he doesn’t touch them.

He can wrap his mind around the goal of finding someone. He can break it down into pieces. He can draw maps in his head. He can hunt down rumors, connect clues, extract inferences. Facts are solid and safe and don’t come with emotions. (A spy should know better than to lie to himself.)

He has a list he keeps of the items stowed away in his classified folder. This list includes, in no particular order: Jyn’s last words to him; his last words to her; the precise shade of green of her eyes that he happens to see every time he lands on Yavin 4; speculation on how many lightyears currently separate them; speculation on why she left; speculation on what she is doing right now; whether she regrets leaving; whether she has already returned and he’ll land back home and see her there waiting for him just like old times, just like on Dantooine, he’ll turn a corner and see her sitting there laughing at him; whether she’s happier wherever she is; whether she’s alive; and the most classified of all thoughts, sealed in an envelope, locked in a box, stored in a vault, whispered only in the language of his heart and never ever verbalized in Basic or Festian, is the answer to this: how will feel when sees her again?

These are all the thoughts that he does not think about on his trip back to Yavin 4.

#

Lyra has not participated in a field mission for over four years—for as long as she’s worked with Mothma. Before then, she’d occasionally participated in reconnaissance missions that required her specialties: surface navigation and local communication. She hadn’t minded such assignments; she enjoyed exploring new places, learning new languages, and meeting new people.

But when Mothma offered her a new position, she’d felt relieved. No matter how much she believed in the goals of the rebellion, she’d never had the stomach for the violent tactics that had been so necessary in those earlier days.

The solutions that Mothma offers keep her hope alive that peace can be attained without resorting to the same atrocities the Empire commits. Because what are they fighting for if they can’t be better than the Empire?

Besides, at least one person in the Erso family ought to adhere to a peaceful approach. Perhaps it can make up for the sins of the rest of them.

She sits in the briefing room, listening to the summation of facts that Cassian has gathered over the last year. Galen, responsible for some kind of planet killer. Galen, persuading a pilot to defect. Galen, sending a message to Saw Gerrera (to her, to Jyn).

She closes her eyes and her hand goes to the crystal around her neck. It’s an old habit, so old that she had sometimes found herself doing it even in the years after she’d given the crystal to Jyn. And now she has it back, and it hangs around her neck, a heavy reminder of the damage she'd caused, the pain she’d dealt herself, her daughter, and a man she barely knows.

It’s not for lack of trying. Cassian keeps his cards close to his chest, and that’s to be expected of a man in his position, but she knows Mothma’s been worrying about him for quite some time, as she worries about all their top spies and the repercussions of what the rebellion asks of them.

Lyra worries, too.

#

 _“_ _Galen Erso is vital to the Empire’s weapons program. There will be no ‘extraction.’ You find him, you kill him._ _”_

Draven has skirted around the subject of the Ersos since he finished lecturing Cassian for letting Jyn get away.

If it hadn’t been for Agent Pellen, Cassian suspects he’d no longer work in Intelligence. Her report had corroborated Cassian’s conclusions and cleared Lyra Erso from most suspicion (Draven never forgets and never lets his guard down).

Jyn also could have been cleared.

But the facts are: Jyn is the daughter of a known Imperial weapons scientist, she lied about her identity, and she deserted the rebellion.

Perhaps the first two offenses could have been forgiven, as with Lyra, but the latter condemns her. In Draven’s mind, she just as easily could have gone to her Imperial father as much as she could have gone to Saw Gerrera, and either option is equally incriminating.

Cassian understands why Draven wants Galen killed. If the planet killer is real, then Galen has created a machine that threatens the galaxy. His death would be justified, both for the damage he’s already caused in its construction and the damage he could potentially cause with the creation of any future weapons. And Mothma’s desire to keep him alive so he can speak in front of the Senate is futile.

So Cassian says, “Understood, sir.”

And he turns around and walks toward his ship, where Lyra Erso waits, and he knows this will be his last mission working for Davits Draven.

#

The sun does not warm the sands of Jedha.

Amidst eroding mountains, empty valleys, and fallen, colossal, weathered statues, it’s easy to believe she’s flown off to the edge of time. She dwells among fallen gods, beyond the end of an era.

“Jyn,” Saw calls, his voice raspy, sharp, pitched from the other room like a spear.

She sighs and gives herself a second more. Her window is pointed away from the Holy City, so she can’t see the Star Destroyer hovering there. She just needs one more second.

And then she’s on her feet, bracing herself for battle although the attack is planned for tomorrow. Today, she faces something else.

The Imperial pilot is smaller than she expects. He cowers on his knees at Benthic’s feet and she wonders if the Tognath threw him down there. A bag covers his face, stains decorate his Imperial flight suit, and he curls in on himself.

This is the man that the Empire is scouring NiJedha for. The man that has them going door-to-door, raiding homes.

If it is a ruse, it’s an elaborate one. But to catch Saw Gerrera, the Empire might do anything.

The pilot’s fear certainly seems convincing. Perhaps it’s Saw’s team that has shaken him, and for that she can’t necessarily blame him. Benthic, Edrio, Moroff, all of them really, wouldn’t miss an opportunity to kick around an Imperial, even one low on the totem pole, even one trying to defect. He doesn’t look injured, per se, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other ways to make a man suffer.

_“Lies!”_

Saw’s voice startles her almost as much as the pilot, but unlike the pilot, she doesn’t show it.

_“Deceptions!”_

The pilot shifts his head beneath the sack, as if he’d somehow be able to see through the cloth.

_“Let’s see it.”_

Benthic hands Saw the pilot’s ID.

_“Bodhi Rook. Cargo pilot. Local boy. Anything else?”_

They force the pilot to his feet; he stands gingerly, shifting his weight back and forth. He wavers, and without the hands on his arms he’d never stay upright. He’s walked across the desert, all the way from the city. Saw’s men spare no discomfort. She clenches a fist but otherwise doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word.

Benthic hands Saw something else; Jyn cranes to see it and catches a flash of metal. _“_ _A holochip. Unencrypted. It was found in his boot when he was captured._ _”_

Jyn snorts, loud enough for Benthic and Saw to hear.

But the pilot, Bodhi Rook, speaks before she can call Benthic out on it. _“_ _I can hear you! You made your point! I’m scared, you made me scared, but he didn’t capture me— I came here myself._ _”_ His words are slightly muffled through the fabric, and maybe those not confident in Basic won’t understand him, but Jyn can and Saw can. _“_ _I defected,” he says. “I defected._ _”_

 _“_ _Lies,” Saw repeats. “Every day, more lies._ _”_

 _“_ _Lies?_ _”_ Rook practically screams. Jyn ought to put a stop to this. She stands up. As he speaks, she crosses the room. _“_ _Would I risk everything for a lie? We don’t have time for this!_ _”_

The desperation in his voice startles her, reminds her of the day she does not allow herself to think of, and she must stop this tirade, if not for her own sanity than to prevent this meeting from veering off course.

 _“_ _I have to speak to Saw Gerrera before it’s too—_ _”_

She rips off the sack.

Rook’s eyes fall on Saw like a magnet, of course they do, because Saw dominates every room he enters.

 _“_ _Saw Gerrera_ _?”_ he asks. He glances at the holochip in Saw’s hands. _“_ _That’s for you. And I gave it to them, they did not find it. I gave it to them. Galen Erso. He told me to find you._ _”_

Jyn sucks in a breath despite herself and clutches the sack in her fist. The pilot looks at her, as if realizing for the first time that she’s present. He meets her eyes, and his own widen.

“You’re Galen’s daughter?” he says.

Of all the people to catch up with her, to reach her in her hiding spot, she had not expected her father to find her first.

Her eyes widen, briefly, before she slides on her mask. She’s not as adept at it as someone else she knows (someone she doesn’t think about), but working with Saw’s men has required her to learn.

Working with Saw’s men has taught her many new skills and habits. One of which is paranoia.

Saw’s men don’t know her as Jyn Erso. When she’d left Yavin 4, she’d revived her Kestrel Dawn identity. She didn’t have time to craft a new one, and she was willing to bet that the rebellion hadn’t discovered her oldest pseudonym. They’d sent someone to Klonoid to investigate, so Tanith was compromised, but no one on Klonoid knew Kestrel.

She can sense Benthic watching her. He’s always been the most suspicious, the most competitive for the role as Saw’s right hand.

But she stays focused on the pilot.

This man may know her father, may know her father’s face in hers, but that could mean any number of things. Perhaps the Empire showed him a picture of her father. Perhaps the Empire has a picture of her (or Liana Hallik, or Tanith Pontha, or Kestrel Dawn). Perhaps the Empire has finally tracked her down, connected the dots.

She watches him from the corner of her eye, but all she sees is growing confusion, self-doubt. She hasn’t confirmed his guess.

“Galen Erso’s daughter is dead.”

Shaking her head, shaking off the paranoia (she really has been spending too much time around Saw), she looks back at her leader.

Saw sucks in air through his mask, eyes wide, wild, as he watches her, waiting for her reaction. After all these years, he yields to her only. It’s cost her some bruises among his crew, but she’s settled the score and thensome.

This man in front of her is not the man who helped raised her. Not the man she remembers. She knows what he’s thinking, nevertheless; she knows his paranoia better than anyone and she knows what he wants to do.

Still she hesitates, because she’s not sure she’s ready for what she’s about to volunteer. She’s not sure her heart can bear it.

But then, she looks back at the pilot Bodhi Rook, and no one can bear Bor Gullet.

“I’ll handle this,” she says, meeting Saw’s stare. For a moment, he says nothing, just stares back, wild-eyed, angry and afraid. Then he nods, and he turns and he clanks back into his rooms. Someone behind her sighs, disappointed, and she whirls on them.

“Someone get me a medkit.” She glares them down. They don’t move, and her hand goes to her baton. “Do I have to repeat myself?”

A man, a boy really, speeds off. Jyn turns to the other humans, knowing that Benthic will be of no use. “Help him downstairs. Follow me.”

#

It’s not entirely excitement that Lyra feels as Cassian and K-2 settle the ship down on Jedha’s surface.

Most people would see Jedha as a barren rock. It’s not Coruscant, with it’s cities of lights and colors and sounds. It’s not Lah’Mu, a study of movement in churning ocean tides and swaying trees and floating clouds. It’s not Yavin 4, full of green and life and hope.

Jedha is dust collecting under a cold sun. To most people.

She clutches the crystal around her neck as they disembark. To protect herself from the biting wind, she’s layered in a thermal, a shirt, a parka; she’s sporting gloves and a hood and boots, and still she shivers.

“It’ll be warmer in the city,” Cassian says behind her.

The Holy City. NiJedha. A center of the Force. The beginning of their trail to both her daughter and Galen.

She shivers again. It’s not entirely because of the cold.

#

Lyra gawks. Cassian knows it’s unintentional, he knows she’s excited, he knows the history of Jedha enough to understand. But she stands out, and that could be a problem.

“Listen,” he says, pulling her into an alcove between a bread merchant and a tea merchant. “We have to…”

He trails off and follows her gaze, spots a squad of stormtroopers knocking on doors, grabbing residents, pushing them around. Then her gaze goes up, to the sky, to the shadow blocking the cold sun.

“Got it,” she says. “So what’s the plan?”

“I have a contact,” Cassian says, continuing forward down a side alley to avoid the stormtroopers. _“_ _We should be able to find her in the temple._ _”_

Lyra nods.

“Lyra.” She turns back to him. “There isn’t much daylight left. We don’t have much time.”

“I get it, Cassian,” she says, almost like _she’s_ chastising him. “No sightseeing.”

After that, she’s fine. Still watching, he notices, still listening, but less obvious now. He reminds himself that she’s been in the field before, if not recently. When she stops to purchase a scarf, she exchanges a few brief words with the vendor in another language.

“There’s a shortcut,” she says to him, wrapping the scarf around her neck. “If we backtrack a block.”

He hesitates, then nods.

Noises mingle around them: the soft murmur of shoppers and pilgrims, the rising shouts of vendors pawning their wares, the bleak drone of a propaganda hologram proclaiming the name _Bodhi Rook_ , and the steady chanting of a monk, like a drumbeat, like a heartbeat of the city: “May the Force of others be with you.”

“Wait for me,” Cassian says, and he shoves his way into the mob.

#

“ _Would you trade that necklace for a glimpse into your future?_ ” 

Lyra pauses and scans the crowd, until she spots a man seated on the stairs at the end of the line of stalls. She takes in his dark robes, the wooden staff by his side, his milky gaze—and she doesn’t think it takes a Force user to guess what he does.

“ _I am Chirrut Îmwe_ ,” the man says when she reaches him.

“Hello,” Lyra says, cautiously. She scans the crowd again, this time for Cassian. _No sightseeing_. “I am—”

“Looking for someone,” he finishes. She looks at him from the corner of her eye, a grin sneaking up from the corner of her mouth.

“Not a Jedi,” he says. “Just a Guardian.”

She’s heard of the Guardians of the Whills, in her studies of the Force. There would have been many of them in the temple, before the Empire came. She looks around, wondering if there are more, if he’s not alone. Sure enough, she spots another lurking around a pillar. Tall, sturdy, wearing red plastoid armor and carrying a blaster cannon. A wild mane floats around his face. He defies every expectation she’s had of a Guardian, as much as the other man, Chirrut, fulfills it. Peace and violence, coupled together.

“Is that not always the way of things?” Chirrut asks her.

She cocks her head at him, even though he cannot see. “The Empire might have us believe so.”

“The tides of history tell us so. Where there is peace, violence lurks behind the corner. And so to where there is violence, peace is waiting to follow.” He pauses. Smiles. “But Baze is not violent.”

“Who would you believe?” The man in armor says, striding a little closer. “The blind man or the man with the gun?”

“She’s not threatening me,” Chirrut says. “You don’t need to intimidate her. She is just looking for her daughter.”

Baze looks her up and down, but otherwise remains as still as a statue.

“Saw’s girl,” he says finally.

“You know her?” Lyra says. Instinctively, her hand goes to the crystal. “Do you know where I can find her?”

“The strongest stars have hearts of kyber,” Chirrut says. “Her star is going dark.”

Lyra’s own heart beats a little faster. “Where is she?”

“Lyra!” Cassian’s voice, right behind her, is sharp and low. “Come on.”

She does not turn around, or even acknowledge him.

“I cannot take you to her,” Chirrut says. The light in her heart flickers. “But I know someone who can.”

#

Chirrut and Baze lead them through the streets, back the way they’ve already come, away from the city center.

“You seem tense _,_ ” Lyra says to Cassian. They’re two steps behind Chirrut and Baze, but she suspects, with Chirrut, they’ve no privacy. She wonders if Cassian’s aware, if he believes. “What did you find out?”

“You trust these two?” he says in response, evading her question. It’d taken some convincing, to get him to follow Chirrut rather than his own lead. But to Lyra, this was more tangible. Chirrut has seen Jyn here in the city, though she’s not present now. “I’ve heard of these guardians. Mostly troublemakers.”

“He knows things I didn’t tell him.”

“They have tricks for that, you know.” He speaks in a hush; he must not believe, or he’d know it wouldn’t matter.

“Yes,” she says, not bothering to quiet her own voice. “The Force.”

His eyes fall to the crystal around her neck.

“I’ve been hearing rumors,” he says, going back to her original question. “Saw’s planning an attack. Tensions are escalating. The door-to-door inspections. There was a shooting a few hours ago on the other side of the city. People are being rounded up.”

Lyra mulls this over. They walk beneath an overpass, a shadow below a shadow. There’s something else. Cassian’s been across the galaxy, surely he’s been to planets and cities worse than this. Something else weighs on him, pushes down on his shoulders, seizes his fingers and clenches them into fists.

“Have you heard anything else?”

He won’t look at her except out of the corner of his eye. “Yes.”

“Is she…?”

He nods, almost imperceptibly, and then he adds, clipped, “She’s here.”

Lyra lets out a breath, closes her eyes. She wonders if she ought to just take the necklace off and carry it in her hand; surely she hasn’t let it go since they arrived on Jedha.

“She was in the city three days ago,” he adds, and finally he meets her gaze. She’s not adept at reading him, but she swears his eyes have softened just a little. “She left before the pilot defected. But my contact thinks she went back to Saw, to finish planning… whatever it is. She’s still on-planet.”

When she thinks of her daughter, for a brief moment she sees the twelve-year-old girl, fierce and fighting and devoted to Saw. She had worried what would become of her daughter after a life with the Partisans, and she’d tried to save her from it before it was too late. Now here they are, ten years later. Who will her daughter be when she sees her again?

But that’s not fair. She knows Jyn. She knows, through her work with Mothma, the sort of deeds the Partisans do. Jyn must hate it. She must.

She can’t imagine a version of Jyn who doesn’t.

She steals another glance at Cassian. What will he do when he sees Jyn again? Has he forgiven her? Has he prepared himself for what might happen the next time he and her daughter occupy the same room?

She’s about to say something, when she nearly collides with Baze’s cannon. They’ve stopped in front of a door.

Time stretches.

The door opens.

#

To say that she intimidates Bodhi Rook would be an understatement.

She can see it in the bow of his head and the tension in his shoulders. She can read it in his eyes, but then, his eyes give away a number of other thoughts. This man’s fears and hopes play on his face like a holodrama from her youth. “Pull it together,” she wants to tell him, not just for his sake, but for her sake, too.

Because she knows when he looks at her, he’s seeing her father.

She hasn’t even asked a question yet, and already she’s finished her evaluation. This man wears his heart on his grungy, soiled sleeve, and he’s no spy.

She wishes he was. That might be easier to handle.

If this is the kind of man that can stand up to the Empire, then what does that say about the men who don’t?

They’ve brought him to one of the larger cells. Sunlight streams in through a small window and hits his face; she moves back in the shadows and finally he can’t see her. It’s only a small reprieve knowing what this conversation will inevitably entail.

Someone else has seen to his feet, on Jyn’s orders. Now his ankles are fastened to his chair, his arms shackled behind the back of it. She debates freeing his hands. She’s not afraid he’ll do anything. He won’t run very far on his blistered feet, and even if he could, he’s not getting through Saw’s hideout. So she clicks open the shackles and hands him a cup of water.

Kindness can be a strategy, and Bodhi Rook has had enough of the opposite over the last few days. She thinks he’ll tell the truth regardless, and she has no interest in watching a man suffer. Even if he carries a message she won’t want to hear.

Besides, she hasn’t had an opportunity to be kind in the last year.

It’d taken her two months to locate Saw, and she figured that timeline wasn’t half bad, all things considered. She’d left Yavin 4 so quickly, she hadn’t had time to try to hack any files on Saw Gerrera, even though she’s sure that they have files. She’s sure they know where he is or how to locate him or at least how to get a message to him. She’s sure that one person in particular would be capable of figuring it out.

But she had to find him on her own. So two months had been pretty damn efficient, if you asked her.

When she did find Saw… well. Disappointment, that would also be an understatement. Surprise. Frustration. None of her friends remained. Staven, dead. Codo. Maia. And Saw, still very much alive, and very much different.

“What are you going to do?” Bodhi asks. His voice is hoarse from yelling and from his trek across the desert.

“That depends on you.”

“Galen said you’d understand,” he says quickly, babbling again. He doesn’t know when to shut up. “He promised the rebels would be…”

“Forgiving?” She smirks. The window in this room looks out on NiJedha, and she can just make out the Star Destroyer in the distance. Her smirk falls into a frown.

“Saw is different, isn’t he? He’s not a criminal, not a terrorist—not like what the Empire says. It’s just lies, isn’t it?”

She just laughs, a dry sound with no mirth. “Let’s begin.”

#

Chirrut’s acquaintance laughs when they tell him what they want.

“First an Imperial pilot defects, now a day later, the rebel alliance comes crawling, begging, for a piece of scraps from the man they cast aside?” He shakes his head. “Îmwe. Why are you really here?”

“I’m looking for my daughter,” Lyra blurts out. It is difficult to see in this place; he hasn’t lit any lamps, and the only light streams in through half-shaded windows. She cannot see his reaction.

She debates whether she should identify herself, and which identity she should give. What would Jyn have done? Lyra doubts her daughter would use her real name: too risky to be connected to Galen Erso. Anyone in the rebellion could have found her by now if she went by Liana. Someone in Intelligence would recognize the name Tanith. That leaves Kestrel.

When Draven had asked Lyra for their identities, she’d held back on the Dawns. Yes, Lyra wanted her daughter back. But as a deserter, Jyn might as well have been a wanted criminal. In those early days, when Draven still hunted for her, she could have faced any number of dangers upon discovery and arrest. If she returned, she would be imprisoned, at the least. Probably court-martialed. Draven would make her life difficult. He’d accuse her of spying.

So though Lyra longed to see her daughter again, she did what she had always done, all her life. She chose to protect her.

Kestrel Dawn was safe.

But Jyn had no way of knowing any of this. She could have made up an entirely new identity.

The Partisan waits, and she has to give a name.

“Kestrel Dawn,” Lyra finally says.

He says nothing, but he doesn’t laugh, either. Silence floats among them with the dust in the sunlight.

Finally, he says, “You do bear a resemblance.”

“Saw will want to see me,” she adds. “I was a Partisan, I was one of you, once. Alauda Dawn.”

“Alauda Dawn.” In the dim light, she can see him cock his head to the side. “Alright. Saw will want to see you.”

Now he turns back to Chirrut. “Îmwe. What did you want?”

“Baze and I would like to come as well.”

The Partisan looks at Baze.

“First I’m hearing of this,” Baze says, shrugging.

“We do not allow people to come and go as they please,” the Partisan says, still leaning back in his chair, but his tone shifts slightly. Lyra sits up a little straighter, glances at Cassian, but he wears his spy face. He might as well be another statue in the Holy City.

“That’s wise,” Chirrut says. “Would you turn away new recruits?”

“You have refused to participate in this fight before,” the Partisan says. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“The Force guides me.”

The Partisan laughs again, a sharp sound, like a bark. “Anyone else, I’d kick them out right now. But you, Chirrut Îmwe? I know you are crazy enough to believe it. Alright. We’ll see what Saw says. But I won’t promise you that you’ll get the chance to leave.”

#

The Partisan has them wait while he gathers his teammates and they prepare for the journey. The dim light fades into darkness. Cassian leans back in his chair, closes his eyes, savors the quiet.

It doesn’t last long.

“You made the right choice,” Chirrut says. Cassian’s eyes snap open, and he searches for Chirrut in the shadows. His face is pointed towards Lyra. Cassian sinks back into his seat.

“If I had gone back for Galen…”

“All will be as the Force wills it,” Chirrut says. “Your daughter needed you then, and she needs you now.”

“We should have left Saw sooner. I don't know. She’s so broken...”

“It’s not your fault,” Chirrut says. His voice is soft. Cassian feels like he’s walked into the middle of a conversation, but of course he’s been here the whole time. This Guardian has tricks, tricks of perception and understanding that not even Cassian has after years of spying. How does he do it?

But then, Lyra can be easy to read. She’s trying to be strong, her shoulders are set, her face is stone, but her hand clutches the crystal around her neck. Just like Jyn. It’s been there all day; he’s been trying to ignore it all day.

“It’s war,” Cassian says, surprising himself. “It’s what it does. And besides. The Alliance is not so much better than Saw.”

“Sure it is,” Lyra says quickly. “I’ve seen both—”

Cassian snorts. “The things I’ve done, on behalf of the rebellion... The Alliance distances itself from Saw, but only to hide from the truth. We’re no better.”

Lyra runs her hand through her hair. “We're going to have the be. Otherwise we're no better than what we're fighting against.”

He says nothing, turns away, stares at a spot of sunlight on the wall.

“What are you going to do when you see her again?” Lyra asks.

Cassian wonders if it wouldn’t have been better to bring K-2 along instead after all.

“You should figure it out now,” she insists.

He says nothing; there’s nothing to say.

#

Jyn returns to her quarters, hands shaking. She stuffs them in her pockets so the other Partisans won’t see. They’ve tossed Rook in a cell somewhere, and somewhere at the back of her mind she cares, she worries, but all she can think of are the words he told her.

Eadu. Her father is on Eadu.

He’s building—he’s _built_ —a planet killer. The rumors are not only true; it’s her father at the heart of them.

Her father convinced Rook to come here, said it would absolve him of his sins of working with the Empire.

But what would absolve Galen Erso of his sins?

She withdraws her hands from her pockets, places them on her windowsill, stares up at the desert night. White stars stare back at her. Instinctively, her hands go to her neck, but of course, the kyber crystal is not there.

“Jyn.”

The coarseness of Saw’s voice softens slightly when he speaks to her, when it is just the two of them.

“He’s safe,” she says, knowing why he’s come. He wants to hear the verdict from her. “It’s not a trap. You should watch his message.”

“I already did.”

She drops her hands to her side, keeps her gaze on the stars.

“You should watch it, too.”

She won’t answer; she can’t answer. How can he ask that of her? Talking to Rook has drained her already. She can’t face her father’s message. Not tonight.

“Why did you come here?”

Without turning, she can tell he’s still standing by the door. Hasn’t come any closer. Saw respects her boundaries, and he has since she returned. No probing questions. No insistence that she return to her mother.

“What are you running from? Who are you running from?”

“The rebellion,” she finally says, as if it were obvious, as if he should already know and understand. “The Empire. Everyone who would arrest me.”

“I am not so sure that is the case,” Saw says.

Her face contracts into a frown; her hands, still shaking, ball into fists at her side. “No?”

“Jyn Erso,” he says. He pauses. “You can’t keep running from yourself.”

She snorts. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I? Prove it. Come watch the message, if you are not afraid.”

#

The journey goes on for hours across the barren, freezing landscape. The only indications that they haven’t traversed into an endless, infinite hell are the crests and peaks of the ancient, fallen monoliths—but of course, they can’t see those. The Partisans have placed sacks over their heads, so they can’t see the way.

With one ear, he listens. The desert night is quiet, punctuated only by the soft crumble of sandy dirt beneath their feet and the occasional code words whispered by their captors. He notes those in the back of his brain.

But mostly, it’s Lyra’s words he hears. He knows she’s right. Every footstep brings him closer to Jyn, closer to an inevitable confrontation, and it might be good to prepare. It’s what he’d do for a mission. Analyze. Dissect. Plan. But the thoughts that had come so easily, so unbidden to him before, now remain behind the locked vault he built for them. And even he can’t unlock it now.

Beside him, Chirrut chants. “May the Force of others be with you.”

And Cassian is as empty as the desert moon.

#

The father who is not the man who raised her speaks. Years she’d forgotten emerge from her cave, dusty and gray but still in tact. Bedtime stories on Coruscant. Playing in the fields of Lah’Mu. Her mother and father, beautiful and elegant, returning from a party, glowing, radiant, happy.

The memories bubble up, behind the shaky blue haze of the holoprojector, and in her mind she juxtaposes these two men. The first: the doting father on Coruscant, piling her shelves high with toys; the engineer speaking words she couldn’t understand to a man in white; the long-haired, tanned, flush-faced farmer on Lah’Mu, struggling to reap from the ground in food what he’d inevitably reap from kyber crystals in energy. The second: a man she barely recognizes until he speaks; a man thin and gaunt as shadow and pale as snow; a man drained, used up like his kyber crystals, his energy sucked out and harvested and focused into destruction.

He speaks and sounds like death.

Her legs wobble beneath her, but she remains standing. Again her hand searches for her absent necklace, but it’s not even the kyber crystal she really seeks. What a fool she’s been. What a fool she is.

He talks about her, and about mama, and stars, if only mama was here with her now. This message is for both of them. And mama needs to hear it. Mama most of all, mama who carries her guilt around.

“ _I’ve placed a flaw deep within the system_ ,” he confesses, and her breath hitches.

She looks to find Saw, but he’s near the door, slipping out.

“Visitors,” he says. He points to the projector. “Keep watching.”

She turns back to the machine, already forgetting what Saw said, never pausing to wonder: it’s a strange hour to be receiving visitors.

#

Lyra kneels on the stone floor, unaware that just hours previous, another person knelt there, quivering, scared and brave at once. She does not shake, does not cower or plead. Saw Gerrera will not intimidate her, even if his cohorts are rougher than she’d remembered.

At least they’ve removed the masks. Beside her, Cassian glances around from the corners of his eyes. He barely moves, but he’s assessing—what, she can only imagine. Exits? Entrances? Bodies? Weapons?

A noise like the heavy step of a security droid startles her. She braces herself, and still is not prepared for what she sees.

Saw, knit together by a conglomerate of armor and tubes, sustained by a breathing apparatus, supported by a metal leg and staff.

Here is the man who saved her and her daughter.

He laughs when he sees her.

“This is a trap after all, isn’t it?” His voice is coarser than she remembers.

She starts to stand, and one of the Partisans presses down on her shoulder.

“Let her up,” Saw says, waving. “If she’s come for me, it’s too late now.”

“We’re here for the pilot,” Lyra says, knowing there’s no point in beating around the bush with Saw Gerrera. Cassian remains quiet. This is Lyra’s turn to take the lead. “The Alliance sent us. They want the pilot, they want Galen.”

Saw leans back on his feet, just slightly, but his grip on his staff remains tight. “Benthic. Leave us.”

The Tognath hesitates just a moment before waving the rest of the Partisans out of the room. As they go, they start to drag Baze and Chirrut and Cassian with them.

“They stay,” Lyra says, loud, demanding. Benthic pauses, his grip tight on Cassian’s arm.

Saw snorts. “Outnumbered, four to one?”

“Saw,” Lyra says, patient. “Are we not still friends?”

“Who are they? Alliance?”

“Cassian Andor. Chirrut Îmwe. Baze…”

“Malbus,” he supplies.

“Two Alliance, including me.” She dares him to protest. “And two Guardians of the Whills.”

“Guardians who carry a bowcaster and a repeater cannon?”

The Partisans stripped them of all their weapons, but they must have told Saw about what they’d been carrying.

“They must go.”

“Fine. Cassian and I stay.”

Saw eyes her, takes in a deep breath from his mask, and then finally nods.

Benthic releases Cassian, shoving him towards the floor. Cassian lands on his knees; his hands behind his back, he barely keeps himself from falling over. Benthic disappears, muttering, and all she can understand is “Dawn” (a name, not a translation) and “soft”. Baze and Chirrut are led out.

“Now,” Saw says, when it is just the three of them. “Tell me why you are really here.”

“For Jyn,” Lyra says.

“What makes you think she is here?”

Lyra will not back down; there are few people who might stand up to Saw, but she counts herself among them. “Where is she, Saw?”

Knowing Saw, reading what she sees in his eyes, he is reluctant to betray Jyn. She counted on that much; it’s how she had persuaded Cassian not to follow her a year ago (it’s how she had protected him from Draven’s wrath, how she had convinced him that the best way to help Jyn was to help the rebellion).

What Saw knows, that Lyra does not, is that Jyn doesn’t need his protection, but her mother’s support.

Surprising Lyra, though not disappointing, he sighs and looks towards the door he came through. “I will take you to her.”

#

Saw unshackles Lyra, but not Cassian. The best treatment a member of the Alliance can expect is to be included at all, and so he follows Lyra, and Saw’s clanking footsteps, into the next room.

Every second since they entered this catacomb, Saw’s hideout, something grows inside his chest. It’s sticky, collecting bits of thoughts and words that he’s hidden over the last year, tacking them to some core emotion he can’t quite name.

Saw employs children. They sit around, polishing blasters and rigging grenades and staring at him with feral eyes, as if he were an Imperial.

Saw tortures his prisoners. When they first enter, he hears the screams and cries, from somewhere deep below, bouncing off twisting corridors.

Saw owns caches of ammunition and weapons. It’s stockpiled, filling rooms, trailing out into the hall. Some of the children even sit on boxes and barrels of it. As if they were just lounging on plush, Coruscanti ottomans. Oblivious to the firepower below them.

What sticks to his heart is the image of that weaponry being used against civilians, innocents. What sticks to his heart is the knowledge of the possibility that those cries from below come from someone who knows nothing, who doesn’t work for the Empire, who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. What sticks to his heart is the image of a young Jyn, sitting amongst the other children.

This is the place she ran to. After she’d left them all behind. This is the place she’d rather be. The arms into which she’d fled.

He grimaces, not from the Tognath’s fingers biting into his arm. Not from the skin rubbed raw on his knees as they scrape against the stone floor. Not from Saw’s wild, violent gaze.

Saw is wise to keep him shackled. Otherwise, he just might shake Jyn when he sees her.

Except, then he sees her.

The room is dim, lit only by a feeble lantern by the door. She kneels on the floor, curled in on herself, in front of a holoprojector. He barely recognizes her at first, this person huddled on the floor in Saw’s hideout. She doesn’t look up when they enter. Nothing plays on the projector.

 _“What have you done to her?”_ Cassian says. His bottled anger overflows, needs a target. And he is not afraid of Saw Gerrera, a man in pieces, held together by haphazard metalwork.

Lyra rushes forward, embraces her daughter, who still barely seems to notice anything or anyone.  

 _“She wasn’t ready for what she saw,”_ Saw says. In his anger, Cassian doesn’t register Saw’s own surprise, his own concern.

“What does that mean?” Cassian doesn’t quite yell. His wrists chafe against his shackles.

The ignored mix of surprise and concern passes, and Saw looks at Cassian as if seeing him for the first time. “Who are you? An Alliance spy?” He turns to the door. “Benthic!”

Lyra is too distracted to protect him this time. Cassian glances back towards the Ersos. Jyn leans into her mother’s embrace; he can see her shoulders shaking. The fight drains out of him. As Benthic drags him away, he watches as Lyra strokes Jyn’s hair, holds her closer.

What could he do to help anyways?

#

Gradually, the rest of the world comes back into perception.

There are arms around her. Soft, strong, familiar. A smell that reminds her of home. Fingers pushing back bangs from her eyes. She’s imagining it, she’s hallucinating that she’s back on Lah’Mu inside the cave in her mother’s arms, like someone broken by Bor Gullet.

But no. This is real.

“Mama?” she says, testing her voice, testing reality.

“I’m right here, darling.”

She’s leaning into her mother’s embrace; they’re sitting awkwardly on the stone ground.

Papa’s image still floats before her, even though the holoprojector has gone out. She puts her hand on her mother’s arm, still questioning what she sees.

“We have to go to Eadu,” she says, her breath a hollow wind from deep in her chest. “We have to get papa.”

The hand on her brow pauses just briefly. Jyn shifs from kneeling to sitting and the stone is cold. Jarring. She looks up and the image of papa finally disappears from behind her eyelids. It’s very dark, with nothing but the soft orange light of the lamp behind her and the light of the stars.

She senses Saw’s presence by the door, but doesn’t look towards him.

“But how are you here?” she says, facing her mother for the first time in a year. It feels like a dream. A fantasy. A childhood fable about a girl who wished on a star. “How did you find me? You left Yavin 4?”

“Yes,” her mother says. She hesitates, and Jyn interrogates her with her eyes. “Cassian found you. He’s right here…”

Jyn follows her mother’s gaze to the door, to Saw, but it’s only the Partisan leader standing there, taking up the entire doorframe.

“Saw?” Lyra asks.

“You two deserve your privacy,” he says. “I sent him away.”

Jyn looks to the ground, brow furrowing. Cassian was here?

“We’ve been tracking everything since you left,” her mother says, taking her daughter’s hand. “Papa. The planet killer. The manufacturing on Horuz. The kyber crystals on Jedha. Saw.”

“You weren’t looking for me,” Jyn says slowly.

“Jyn,” her mother says, gentle with just a hint of scolding. “It all ties together. And you were the one who ran away.”

Jyn pulls away, stands. Traces her fingers over the holoprojector.

“Where is he?” she says. “Saw?”

“I sent him to the holding cells. With the two guardians.”

She almost breathes a sigh of relief. There’s no room in her head for Cassian Andor, not right now, with her father occupying everything, and the surprise of finding her mother suddenly here. The coincidence is jarring; she’s baffled that Saw’s paranoia even let her mother in.

But of course, it’s not a coincidence. Alliance Intelligence must have heard about the pilot and the message. Of course they would send Lyra Erso to talk to Saw.

“What guardians?” she asks, still fiddling with the holoprojector. But she doesn’t turn it on.

“Chirrut Îmwe. Baze Malbus.”

She almost laughs. Coincidence. Intelligence. The Force. Conspiring against her. It was only a matter of time. _Fate_ is a word that comes into her head, but she’s never been one to believe in destiny.

“Chirrut and Baze,” she says. “Of course.”

“You know them?” her mother asks.

“They saved my life a month ago.”

Her mother says nothing, and when Jyn looks back, she sees her mother’s lips pressed in a firm line, her face porcelain white in the starlight.

“All will be as the Force wills it,” Jyn says. It comes out of her by accident, but when she says it, she stands up a little straighter.

“Saw,” she says, a fire rekindling. “We need to go to Eadu to rescue my father.”

“We don’t have the resources for that,” he says, his raw voice more hoarse than usual. Her father’s message has drained something from him, too. “Our attack is planned for tomorrow.”

Now she steps towards him, the fire raging. “What do you think will deal a bigger blow the Empire? Another attack in a city already caught in turmoil, that kills as many civilians as Imperials? Or the defection of a top Imperial weapons scientist?”

Saw is not a man who flinches. “If I give you my men for that mission, more than half would kill him on sight.”

Jyn doesn’t take another step towards him, doesn’t take a step back. She says nothing, but the fire in her heart crackles, pops.

“Fine,” she finally says. “Less is more, with an exfiltration, anyways. But after Eadu, we go to Scarif. To get the plans. We’ll need your help there.”

“Make good with the Alliance,” her mother adds, from behind Jyn’s right shoulder. “Go to Yavin 4. I’ll send a message to Mon Mothma to expect you. Go to her, she’ll hear you out.”

Jyn turns to her mother. “We don’t need the Alliance.”

“Yes. We do.” Lyra places a hand on Jyn’s shoulder. “We can’t do this, just us and the Partisans. We need all the help we can get. Scarif is in the heart of Imperial territory.”

Biting her lip, Jyn looks out the window, out at the stars. “I can’t go back to Yavin. I’ll be arrested.”

“They forgave me,” Lyra says.

“You didn’t run away.”

“If we do this,” Lyra says, “then maybe…”

“Will they even agree to go to Scarif?”

“With your papa’s testimony, how could they not?”

But her mother won’t meet her eyes. There are many reasons that Jyn left the rebellion. If the daughter of an Imperial weapons scientist can’t be trusted, then what does that mean for the scientist himself?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience in waiting! Hopefully I will be able to stick to updating every 7-10 days.


	7. Jedha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the comments and likes! and thank you for your patience. This chapter took forever because it became so long, and I had to break it into two chapters. So unfortunately that means... no Galen & Lyra reunion as promised. I know I know I'm sorry. BUT. There is a little special surprise at the end to make up for it. Also, the next chapter is already 80% written so the wait should not be so long for the next one.

Jyn replays her father’s message for her mother.

The second time around, she listens for the details about the Death Star, tunes out the other bits. She tries to stay calm. She hones her focus, her resolve, around a singular point. Rescue papa. Emotions, context, betrayal fade away. She has a mission and an agenda to see to, and she’s prepared.

But still, as the message plays, she clutches her mother’s hand, and it’s not only to provide comfort. “ _If you’re happy, Jyn…_ ” her father says, and maybe she squeezes just a little harder at the sound of those words.

The projector goes blank. The blue ghost of her father vanishes. In the dark, they sit in silence, holding each other.

Saw has given them the room.

Time passes—minutes, days, eternity—and finally Lyra shifts. As she moves, Jyn’s whole body protests. She aches from sitting on the stone floor, from staying still in the same position, from something deeper in her heart that she’s trying not to linger on.

Her mother groans as she stands; Jyn hears her joints crack and pop. And suddenly Jyn remembers what a long journey it is from NiJedha.

“You should get some sleep. Here, I’ll show you to my quarters.”

Stifling a yawn, Lyra follows Jyn into the next room. “What about you?”

“I’m going to find Saw. So we can plan what’s next. Eadu.”

Lyra places a hand on Jyn’s shoulder, turns her around. “You should sleep, too.”

“But—”

“Bed. Come on.”

Reluctant, relieved, Jyn complies. She curls into bed beside her mother, like a child, like she’s just had a nightmare and slipped into her parents’ bed, and she’s so completely exhausted that she doesn’t even mind.

#

Cassian spends the night sitting on the floor of his cell, staring through metal bars out into the desert night. He leans his head back against the cold stone wall, and isn’t sure whether the numbness is from the cold or something else. Mostly, he’s tired.

But even sleep rejects him. He dozes, and wakes, and dozes, and wakes. Occasionally his eyes drift to his equipment, stored just feet away from him on a bench, on the other side of the bars.

He could probably pick the lock on the cell, but where would he go?

He could call Kay. Give him their location. He’d barely had time to tell him they were leaving the city (but thank the stars for small favors). It’s been almost a day since they left Kay behind on the ship. If he hadn’t communicated their departure, Kay might have gone in to look for them. As an Imperial droid, he’d probably blend in. But as an Imperial droid, he might get roped into something. Give himself away. Get reprogrammed. Get hacked.

Suppose he did pick the lock and call Kay. Then what? Slip out of the catacombs? He could probably find his way out, and he may even be able to take down any guards in his way. He may even have enough time to get in the ship before the Partisans shot it out of the sky. He’s made similar escapes before.

But it would mean leaving Lyra and Jyn behind. It would mean giving up the mission. He’s not about to do either.

So he sits, exhausted, with nothing to do but wait.

“All will be as the Force wills it.”

Chirrut and Baze are in the next cell over; he’d thought they were both asleep.

The Force. Cassian snorts. It’s not quite that he doesn’t believe in it. During the years he’s spent serving the rebellion, he’s learned enough history to know about the Jedi and the feats they were capable of. But he’s never recognized any sign of it himself. If the Force has had anything to do with what he’s seen in his life, then the Force is not an ally he can trust, not an ally he wants anything to do with.

Still. He does hope. He does want to believe. But that’s not the same as believing.

#

Jyn wakes to a distant noise, the chattering and clattering of rebels preparing to leave, to go to battle. The sun lingers below the horizon. Her room is dark, quiet save for the murmur on the other side of the walls and her mother’s steady breathing.

Careful not to wake her mother, Jyn slips out of bed and makes her way to what serves as a their mess.

She finds Saw there, and he hands her a cup of caf. The liquid is thick and grainy as she sips it, but it sucks the grogginess from her mind. As the Partisans bustle past them, grabbing rations on their way to the next room, she watches the sky shift from black to purple to blue.

A strange feeling overtakes her, something she hasn’t felt in a year.

Purpose.

The focus from last night remains, still burns. It’s energy and emotion contained, waiting for her to harness it.

Jyn’s hand, of its own accord, searches for the crystal, still missing from her neck.

The sky burns into pink, orange, yellow. An idea dawns on her.

“Saw,” she says. He dismisses the rebel he’d been talking to and turns to her. “Call off the attack.”

He hesitates. “We can’t help you rescue your father.”

“You can,” she says. “We need an Imperial cargo ship.”

He stares at her, waiting.

“Help me steal one,” she says. She pauses. “One that’s full, ready to go.”

His eyebrows raise as he realizes what she’s suggesting. Then he shakes his head.

“Why not?” Her hands grip her mug, knuckles white, as if she would break the ceramic with her own hands. She tries to convince him with her glare.

“We are not made for covert missions,” he says, gesturing to the Partisans nearby. “You need subtlety. You can’t land a ship on Eadu that’s already reported stolen.”

She sighs, and the fight in her deflates.

“What about the spy?” he says.

“Who?” she starts to ask—Oh. Cassian. She’d forgotten he was here. Her sense of purpose wears away a little at the edges.

“The spy who came with your mother. Do you know him?”

She peers into her mug. Empty. She sighs. “Yes. I know him. We’ve worked together before.”

“Do you trust him?”

Still examining the swirling grains in her cup, she takes a moment to say, “Yes.” It might be true. It probably isn’t.

But what she needs to do, what’s most important, is plan papa’s rescue. If they’re going to be successful, she needs Cassian’s cooperation. Needs his intelligence, skills, resourcefulness. And the rest of what lies between them will wait. For papa.

She looks up and finally meets Saw’s gaze. “I’m not sure if he trusts me.”

“It’s time to find out.”

#

Jyn goes to wake her mother; Saw orders someone to fetch Rook, Chirrut, Baze. And Cassian.

Three reunions in twenty-four hours. Papa. Mama. Cassian. She’d complain about it being unfair, if she hadn’t long since reconciled herself with the unfairness of the universe.

She hands her mother a cup of caf, leads her to a cushion in the room with the projector (a private room, away from the rest of the Partisans), and waits.

Saw arrives first. He crosses to the far end of the room and settles into one of the few actual chairs; like everything in their hideout, furniture is acquired through opportunity and appropriation. Mostly, what constitutes furniture here are a variety of different sized cargo crates and piles of lumpy old cushions.

Jyn cannot sit, though, so she stands near her mother, leaning against the wall, and watches the door.

Bodhi Rook enters next, walking stiffly, gaze flitting about the room until it falls on Saw. He pauses before taking a seat on a crate next to Lyra.

Then Chirrut, strolling in, curious, as if he were a tourist exploring the catacombs. Baze follows, hair a messy tangle around an expression caught between irritation and resignation. They take their seats across from Lyra, on the remaining cushions.

Finally, Cassian.

His head just happens to be turned in her direction as he enters, and their eyes find each other immediately. Her heart beats in her ears. Her lips are dry, cracked. She pushes down a desire to flee back into her quarters. For a moment, they stare, silent behind their mirrored masks. She can’t read him and she prays the past year with the Partisans has strengthened her own shield.

Then he turns away, to assess the seating options, and chooses to lean against the wall beside Baze, closest to the door. Furthest from her.

Jyn crosses her arms and turns to Saw.

#

Cassian listens without commenting as Saw, Lyra and Jyn explain their plans.

Hijacking an Imperial shuttle on a planet as guarded Jedha without raising any suspicion doesn't, while sure to be dangerous, would prove strategically useful. Going to Eadu already fits within the directive Mothma and Draven gave them: find Galen Erso. The next step—the rescue—depends on which Alliance leader you ask. Cassian has already made his decision on that regard.

He is not sure what effect Lyra and Jyn think Galen’s presence will have on the council. He suspects, like most controversial decisions, it would sow discord. Lead to argument, not action. And the presence of Saw Gerrera and his Partisans? Likely to fuel the flames of that argument.

Lyra is adamant that Mothma would approve, and there he hesitantly agrees. Mothma would at least feel the need to try. Would feel optimistic at repairing Saw’s break with the rebellion, if only because more support is more support. Would see it as an opportunity towards unity.

Of course, there’s three other people they need to convince before it even matters what Mothma or Draven think of the rest of their plans.

“Bodhi,” Jyn says, her neutral mission tone giving way to something a little softer. Cassian raises a brow; the break in his mask goes unnoticed. Jyn’s attention is on the pilot. “Would you take us to Eadu? Take us back to my father’s facility?”

The pilot’s eyes dart between Jyn and Saw. A lost cause. Cassian can read it on the man’s face, in his tense shoulders, in the fumbling of his fingers.

“Go back?” he says. He gulps. “Galen said I wouldn’t—that after I left, I could...” He pauses, looks at the floor, shakes his head.

“Please, Bodhi,” Jyn says, touching his shoulder. He jerks, but still fixates on the floor. “We—”

“But,” he says. His fingers curl into fists. “It’s very tricky with the weather and the radar. You’ll need my help.” Now he meets Jyn’s eyes. “Yes, I’ll help.”

“Thank you, Bodhi.”

She turns to Chirrut and Baze.

“We could use a change of scenery,” Chirrut says, smiling.

“He just said the weather’s bad. Wind and rain,” Baze says, not smiling.

“When was the last time we had a good rainfall?”

Baze stares at his partner for a moment, sighs, then shrugs. “If Chirrut’s in, I’m in.”

“Cassian?”

Both eyebrows shoot up when she turns to him, when she says his name. He had assumed his support was a given, but the question plays on her face, neutral, polite, diplomatic.

He can’t get a reading on her, and a part of him (that he folds up and files in his vault) hates that.

“Sure. We already have orders to continue to Galen, if we discover his location.”

She nods, still stone faced. He thinks he sees her jaw tick, just a little.

“They’ll call the council together,” he continues. He doesn’t move, hasn’t moved from his position leaning against the wall. “It’ll be difficult.” He glances to Saw. “I can’t guarantee they’ll be welcoming.”

“Leave that to Mothma,” Lyra says. “When they find out about the Death Star, the Alliance will be so desperate for firepower, it should curtail any protest on their part.”

He turns his gaze to her. “Even if she smooths that over, getting the council to agree…”

Saw laughs and shakes his head. “They sit and argue and do nothing while…”

Jyn raises her voice. “We have to try, don’t we?”

When Cassian looks at her, she drops her mask just a little, and her eyes burn with her familiar fire.

“We have to hope.”

He closes his eyes and closes his vault.

_Don’t say it_ , he thinks. _Don’t say what you’re about to say. Don’t repeat my words back to me._

She doesn’t.

“We should hurry,” Cassian says, and when he opens his eyes again, he looks back at Saw instead. Imagine, Saw Gerrera being the safest person in the room to look at. “The longer we wait, the more time we give the Empire to track down Bodhi. And figure out who sent him.”

#

Jyn leaves the room to pack.

The second she’s back in her quarters, and not a moment earlier, she lets out a shaky breath and pauses to lean back against the wall. She tilts her head back, eyes closed, and just breathes. Counts. Focuses on stilling her shaking hands.

She can’t unravel now. She grabs the ends of her fraying purpose and knots it back together. Papa. It’s about papa.

Everyone agreed. They’re doing this. They're going to hijack an Imperial cargo ship. They’re going to Eadu. They’re going to rescue papa. Saw will meet them on Yavin 4. They will convince the council to mount an expedition to Scarif to steal the plans. And after… After is too much to think about.

#

Jyn convinces Saw to allow Kay to pick them up, to save them half a day’s journey back to the city.

“We need all the time we can get,” she says, echoing Cassian’s words from earlier. “The longer it takes, the likelier it is they’ll figure out that papa sent Bodhi. Please.”

Twenty minutes later, Lyra and Jyn stand at the bottom of the ramp, the last to board.

“Thanks for taking care of us, Saw,” Lyra says. Saw says nothing, not out loud, at least, but Jyn interprets a conversation in their gazes, words left hanging between them, never said. Lyra has bottled them up as best as she could in her short sentence of gratitude.

What Jyn sees in Saw’s eyes now is what she’s seen, occasionally, in the last year. Regret. Sadness. Wondering if some things could have been done differently. But he will never say it to anyone, not even to her, not even to Lyra.

He takes Lyra’s hand, squeezes it.

“Tell Galen I said hello,” he says, and he lets go.

It’s just Jyn and Saw now.

“Jyn,” he says, “My daughter.”

Her eyes widen, slightly.

“Stop running,” he says. “And you’ll find your way.”

“Saw…”

He hugs her then, and it’s so unexpected that she just stands still for a moment or two before returning it. Even if the year with him has been rough, even if he’s changed, he’s still her second father and he’s taken her in twice now. If he can’t feel her arms beneath his armor, it’s the gesture that counts.

When he pulls away, he surprises her again.

“Whatever happened between you and the spy…”

To be caught by surprise twice? She hasn’t let her guard down since… she shakes her head.

“I don’t want to know,” he continues, mistaking her expression. “Just fix it before you get to Eadu.”

“You don’t—”

Saw holds up a hand. “Just fix it. You need him.” Jyn turns her glare towards the rising wall of the catacombs. “To rescue your father, you need to work as a team, or you will fail.”

She nods, barely. Still won’t look at him.

“I’ll see you on Yavin 4,” Saw says. “Go.”

#

Only a night has passed since Cassian last walked the streets of Jedha, and yet the difference is almost palpable. Tension sifts through the air like dust kicked up by marching stormtroopers. People shuffle along beneath the repetitive drone of the propaganda holograms: _Bodhi Rook_ , the reason stormtroopers stalk the streets; _Bodhi Rook_ , the reason stormtroopers disrupt gatherings in the market; _Bodhi Rook,_ the reason stormtroopers search their homes in the middle of the night.

Cassian keeps a close eye on the pilot. He’s kept his uniform—it’ll prove useful later—but Saw gave him a large coat to cover it up. A hood and scarf cover his face, and it’s cold enough to justify it.

If only Bodhi weren’t so twitchy.

Every time he hears his name, his shoulders sag, or he glances behind him, or he pulls his hood lower. It’s almost unbelievable that he defected at all. But he did, Cassian reminds himself. He did defect. And for someone with such a nervous disposition, perhaps that means a little more than it would for the next person. Perhaps there’s more to him than meets the eye.

Jyn seems to think so. She hovers closer to him, bumping shoulders, sending him reassuring glances. She says something to him in the local language, and he responds with a hesitant smile.

Cassian turns away, looks back to check on Kay. It’d be strange for an Imperial droid to travel with them, so Cassian instructed him to trail them by a block or so. Between watching Bodhi and watching Kay, Cassian’s barely had any time to think about anything else (the soft sound of Jyn’s quiet laugh, the stony looks she saves for him, the worry settling in his gut at what might go wrong during this mission).

He can’t imagine what he might be feeling if he had to keep track of Lyra, Baze, and Chirrut, too. They’re waiting back at his U-Wing, out of trouble and out of mind, for now at least. It would be too difficult to sneak seven people aboard a heavily guarded Imperial ship without drawing attention. After Bodhi helps them scope out the Imperial complex, he’ll return to that ship and fly them to Eadu, while, Cassian, Jyn, and Kay fly the cargo ship.

He’s not exactly looking forward to it, but logistically, the three of them are best suited for such a mission, and as the only other pilot, Bodhi is needed in the U-Wing. Besides, he’d probably be recognized inside the compound.

Within hours, he’ll be alone with Jyn (and her glares). He’s waited a year to see her again, and he’s not ready.

So he lingers a few steps behind Jyn and Bodhi and keeps Kay in his line of sight, and focuses on his job.

#

Bodhi leads them to the Imperial compound pretty efficiently. From the roof of an abandoned building, the four of them survey the Imperial shipyard.

“Something’s up,” Bodhi says. “Look.”

Pointing, he hands Cassian the binoculars. “What am I looking for?”

“That line of ships, there. All being loaded with kyber crystals. They never ship that much at once.”

“They’re in a hurry,” Jyn says.

Cassian looks at her, frowning. “Maybe they’ve heard Saw’s planning an attack.”

She scoffs. “And risk drawing the attack here, instead?”

“Could be bait.”

Jyn reflects the frown back at him. “He’s not that stupid.”

He holds out the binoculars without a word and Jyn accepts them. Instead of examining what Bodhi has already mentioned, she searches out the variety of Imperials involved in the operation. Pilots mingling around their ships, workers pushing carts up the ramps, stormtroopers pacing the perimeter, officers barking out orders.

“Bodhi,” she says. “Is there a mess on the compound? How often do people leave to explore the city?”

“There’s a gate around the corner,” he says, pointing. “It’s midday, so we might catch some off-duty personnel wandering around. But if there’s something going on…”

“Let’s go.”

#

The streets are crawling with Imperials; as non-military personnel flock back to the gate, stormtroopers pass by in the opposite direction. On their way, they run into two maintenance workers heading back to base.

Cassian and Jyn easily catch them off guard, whisk them into a covered alcove, and knock them unconscious. As they zip the worker uniforms on over their clothes, Bodhi gives them a final set of instructions, and then it’s time for him to return to the U-Wing.

“Keep your head down, walk with purpose, you’ll be alright,” Jyn says, as Bodhi eyes the streets warily. “We’ll reach out on the comm when we’re ready.”

He opens his mouth to speak, closes it, then finally says, “I’ll see you on Eadu.”

He disappears into the crowd.

When she turns back to Cassian, he’s watching her, expression set in its usual unreadable mode.

“There’s a sixty-two point five percent chance he’ll make it back to the ship,” Kay says.

Jyn turns her glare to the droid, and reminds herself, again, that she’s doing this for papa.

#

They stride in through the west gate, Jyn’s hair tucked up into her cap. The crowd returning to the compound is thick enough that the guard barely looks at the scandocs they lifted from the two workers. They follow others wearing the same uniform into the complex, through the streets, until they arrive at a warehouse.

Inside, workers are gathered around a screen that, she assumes, lists instructions or a schedule of some sort. As it scrolls, workers peel off, disappearing back onto the street. A light murmur goes through the crowd, and as Imperial employees rush past them, Jyn hears snippets of conversation. One word, in particular, crops up the most. Evacuation.

The third time she hears it, she looks over at Cassian at the same time he turns to her.

“Kay,” he says. “Plug in, see what you can find.”

They follow Kay further inwards, towards the closest unmanned console. It’s on the wall to their right, and judging by the screens connected to it, it seems to be a workstation for to route cargo. Next to it, she spots a scanning device and a pallet of boxes.

She looks out across the rest of the warehouse. It’s one large room, divided into two floors, barely, by a thin catwalk that hugs the walls except for two parallel walkways that stretch across the expanse. Across the main floor, pallets piled high with crates and modules cram together so tight, a person couldn’t walk between them. On the far side of the warehouse, a crew of workers load the modules onto hovering carts and push them out through the hangar doors, towards the ships.

“All personnel have been ordered to evacuate the city,” Kay says. “No reason is provided.”

Cassian catches her eyes again.

Jyn snorts. “Saw doesn’t cause enough trouble to warrant an entire evacuation.”

“I agree.”

She cocks her head to the side, openly puzzled, before remembering that she’s trying to keep her mask up.

Then she figures it out, and in her horror the mask no longer matters. Eyes wide, she says, “The Death Star. They’re bringing it here. They’re going to test it.”

Cassian runs his hand through his hair, rubs his chin. “Maybe.”

“What else could it be?”

“Let’s not wait around to find out.”

Kay finds the manifest for one of the cargo ships and updates the roster to include the names of their swiped identities.

When he’s finished, he says, “You’d better hurry. The safety inspection has been completed and the stormtroopers are preparing to board.”

“Stormtroopers?” Jyn asks.

“It appears a new protocol is in place to have stormtroopers accompany each shipment.”

“How many?”

“There are two on this flight,” Kay says.

It could be worse.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Jyn whirls stiffly on her heel and comes face to face with an Imperial officer.

“Confirming the manifest, sir,” Cassian says quickly. His accent shifts slightly into something more Imperial sounding.

The officer narrows his eyes. “What ship are you with?”

Cassian rattles off some flight code he must have seen looking over Kay’s shoulder.

“Hurry up,” the officer says, sneering. “That flight is set to depart at thirteen hundred. You shouldn’t be loitering in here.”

“Yes, sir.” Cassian salutes as the man leaves.

#

“But I just _checked_ the assignment board,” the worker mutters, when Cassian tells them they’re being transferred.

Cassian shrugs. “Captain Wartin sent us here.”

“With a KX-series, too?” The worker squints up at Kay.

Again, Cassian shrugs. Still with his Imperial, Inner Core accent, he says, “The captain assigned him with us. I presume the contents of this ship require heightened security, but I’m not in the habit of questioning my superiors.”

The line sends a chill down Jyn’s spine, and she looks away, watching the faces of the workers.

The second one scowls. “They probably changed the manifest again,” he says. “Never seen such disorganization. A few rebel threats and suddenly this? It doesn’t make sense.”

_It’s not the rebels threatening this city_ , Jyn thinks, but she says nothing.

Shaking his head, the second worker starts walking towards the warehouse. “Come on, Rulf.” Reluctantly, Rulf follows.

Four stormtroopers linger nearby, watching all this occur without intervention or comment. Cassian nods towards them, then takes the handle of the hovercart and starts pushing it up the ramp. Jyn grabs the second and follows him in.

It takes about forty minutes to finish loading the ship. During that time, Jyn eyes the layout of the cabin from the corner of her eyes and avoids Cassian as best she can. When the stormtroopers look away, he ducks into the fresher and comms Lyra.

“Scheduled departure, thirteen hundred,” he hears him say. She lingers nearby, makes it look like she’s securing a set of modules. There’s a pause. “Got it.”

She’s finished with the strap when he re-enters the cabin. “Did he…?” she says quietly. She does not finish the question (Did Bodhi make it back?), does not dare speak his name here.

Cassian nods, just once, before turning and heading back down the ramp.

#

There are only three Imperials on board when they finally take off: the pilot and the two assigned stormtroopers.

With three on three, hijacking the ship should be easy.

The ‘troopers linger upstairs near the cockpit while the pilot makes the hyperspace calculations. Once they make the jump, when there’s less of a chance for someone to call for help, Cassian and Jyn will take the ship. For now, they sit in the cabin in silence.

She’s been dreading this part of the plan since they first came up with it—not the combat, the part after. Being alone, with Cassian. If she could have had a choice, she’d be on the other ship, or she would have had Bodhi pilot this one. But logistically, Bodhi would have been too much of a risk to bring onto the compound. And Cassian and Jyn are better suited to the mission.

It’s for papa, she reminds herself. Don’t think about Cassian or what he did or… anything else.

Her mother had suggested the trip would give them time to clear the air. Because there’s never a better time to accuse someone of betrayal right before working with them on a mission to rescue your own father. She might have to confront Cassian at some point, but that point would come after papa was safely aboard a ship en route to Yavin 4.

For his part, he certainly wasn’t bringing the subject up, either.

The ship lurches as it jumps into hyperspace.

“Let’s get this over with,” Jyn mutters, unbuckling.

“What are you thinking?”

“Call one of the stormtroopers down here, say you need a hand with something. I’ll take out the pilot and the second trooper.”

Cassian hesitates.

“What?”

“There’s a thirty-three percent chance if he leaves you alone in the cockpit, you’ll reroute the ship.”

Jyn turns, looks up at K-2SO, towering above them even when he stands a yard or so away. Glaring, she rises to her feet, but of course it doesn’t make much of a difference.

“ _What?_ ” she repeats.

“There’s a thirty-three percent chance…”

“No, I heard you,” she snaps.

“Then why did you…”

“Kay,” Cassian says, standing up. “Just leave it.”

“Is that what you think?” Jyn says, whirling on Cassian. “You think I’d just abandon a mission to rescue my own father?”

His face shifts into his impenetrable mask, and it might as well be a confirmation.

“It is a reasonable expectation,” K-2SO says. “Your file indicates three known instances where you abandoned your team.”

Her faces scrunches up, as she wonders what ‘instances’ the file is counting. The rebellion, fine. Klonoid, maybe. That’s two. What else? Wendlyn had recommended her transfer, that shouldn’t count. Leaving Saw? That was her mother’s decision. Whatever they’re counting, it isn’t accurate. Besides, those have nothing to do with what’s happening now.

“I’ve never abandoned my team—I’ve never left anyone _behind_ ,” she says. Not on an actual mission, not when there are risks and dangers. Not when it matters.

“No?” Cassian says, and his mask has twisted into something cruel, one eyebrow arched, his face tilted away slightly in feigned curiosity. “Would your mother agree?”

Her heart thumps loudly in her chest, and it’s not the first time she’s glowered at him like she’d incinerate him with just her eyes. Her fists clench and before she really even makes the decision, her right hand is flying towards his face.

“What’s going on down here?”

Buckled over, clutching his face, Cassian lets out a few words in Festian.

“Droid,” one of the ‘troopers says, “Subdue them.”

Kay hesitates. “Stop!” he says, uselessly. He looks down at Cassian, and then grabs the back of Jyn’s uniform.

“Hey!” she says, dangling, reaching for Kay’s arm for purchase, so she doesn’t choke on her collar. She hears the troopers’ boots clanking down the staircase. Kriffing hell. “Let me go!”

Cassian finally straightens, hands over his nose, blood trickling down beneath his fingers.

“Nothing—we’re fine,” Cassian says, nasally. Jyn’s not sorry.

“Everything alright?” the pilot calls from above.

“Get us a medkit,” the second ‘trooper says, from somewhere off to the left, distantly behind Kay. The pilot’s footsteps vanish towards the medbay.

“You can let her go,” Cassian says to Kay. The droid promptly drops her, and she almost lands on her feet before falling backwards. Her butt and her palms slam into the metal floor. That’s going to bruise. The knuckles on her right hand already throb, and now the other side of her hand joins in.

“Are we done here?” the first ‘trooper says to Cassian.

Cassian nods, his shoulders stiffening at the movement. “Just a small disagreement.”

From behind him, on the ground, Jyn sees Cassian’s free hand sliding behind his back, as if bracing himself, but she knows he’s hiding a pistol there. Obscured from the ‘trooper’s view, she reaches for her own.

Stormtrooper One holsters his own rifle and reaches for a data pad.

“We’re going to have to write this up,” he says.

“There’s really no need,” Cassian says, and as the ‘trooper starts typing, he whips the pistol out, shoots the ‘trooper nearly point blank.

Before the other ’trooper can react, Jyn shoots from her position on the ground, between Kay’s legs.

“I’ve got the…” The pilot enters the cabin. Jyn stands, and he glances between Jyn and Cassian and the two blasters trained on him.

“Hand it over,” Cassian says, and he waves his blaster to indicate Jyn.

Still not sorry, she fetches the medkit anyways, and then smacks the pilot on the head with the butt of her pistol.

Jyn swipes a cold pack from the box. When Cassian has holstered his gun, she hands over the kit, avoiding his gaze.

She doesn’t wait for him to say anything. As she leaves the cabin, she hears Cassian instructing Kay to clean up the bodies.

#

Jyn retreats upstairs, finds a bunk, and holes herself up in it. She should get some sleep, or some rest, before Eadu. She should maybe go downstairs and make sure Cassian is alright. She should apologize. She should make peace with him.

She drifts to sleep anyways, while she’s debating what to do, but doesn’t get any rest.

For the first time in years, she dreams of Lah’Mu. Only this time, she is alone in the house, and she can’t find papa or mama. A ship engine roars overhead, and when she looks outside, she sees two distant figures vanishing in the hills, towards the cave. She needs to catch up with them. She needs to _go._

A knock raps at the door; the man in white is here, and she hasn’t escaped yet! Where is papa? Shouldn’t he still be here?

The door slams open. She runs to her bedroom, cowers, finds her bed and slides under it. _Papa where are you?_ She thinks.

She screams when a face appears in her view, bending over.

“Come, child. We must be quick.”

It’s not the man in white. He seems familiar, but she can’t remember him, so she backs away, shimmies out to the other side of the bed.

“Let’s go, Jyn,” the man says, and suddenly she does know him. She runs to his side.

“Where are we going, Saw?” she says, walking alongside him, towards the front entrance. “Are we going to papa?”

“No,” he says. “Your friend the spy.”

She has to hurry to keep up with him. He leads her out into the fields, the hills, and she sees the shuttle there, just where it landed all those years ago. Two men are talking. She can recognize the white cape from here, but she cannot see the other man’s face. Not until they get closer.

Her friend the spy nods, then turns around, looks right at her. He waves, then gets on the ship, and when he leaves she finally sees the face of the man in white. It is not Orson Krennic, the man who took her father away.

General Davitz Draven looks at her and smiles.

#

She wakes, gasping, shaking. The ship rattles around her, bouncing, buffeted side to side. Something pelts at the side of the ship, rain or sleet or hail, and thunder cracks in the distance.

Have they arrived at Eadu already?

She takes another moment, shivering in the cold, and listens. Someone speaks in the cockpit. She finds Cassian and K-2 there, rain lashing at the window.

“I’m glad you are awake,” Kay greets her. “You are very noisy when you sleep. It is distracting.”

“You should strap yourself in,” Cassian says quietly over his shoulder. She looks down at him, sees a thin red line crossing the bridge of his nose, bruising shadowing the inner corner of his left eye. He doesn’t look at her, but he’s focused on steering the ship in the storm.

The ship shudders again, and she listens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a sneak peak from the next chapter: 
> 
>  
> 
> Galen Erso is not having a great day.
> 
> To be fair, days spent working for the Empire (the cruelest organization to rule the galaxy) to engineer the Death Star (the deadliest super weapon in history) at a facility on Eadu (the wettest rock he's ever lived on) are rarely good.
> 
> But today, they tested it. They used it. And now Krennic is coming to gloat, no doubt, on their historic achievement. The weapon works, and they've destroyed a city known for rebel activity. A holy city. A city where he sent Bodhi Rook.
> 
> Perhaps Krennic has not just come to gloat. Perhaps he knows something else.
> 
> Perhaps the end has come.
> 
> He barely notices as the head engineers file out of the conference room, on their way to prepare for Krennic’s arrival. He barely notices when the loudspeakers, so rarely utilized, crackle on. He barely notices when the woman speaking says his name.
> 
> “Hey.” His coworker, Yonn, taps his shoulder, points up to indicate the loudspeaker.
> 
> “I repeat: Galen Erso, please report now to Lab Nineteen B for incoming specimen analysis.”
> 
> He must be imagining things. His life is passing before his eyes (or ears). He's hearing his wife's voice.
> 
> “Galen,” Yonn says, tapping him on the shoulder. “You better hurry, if you have to go to the lab and prepare for Krennic’s arrival…”
> 
> “Right,” he finally says. “Thanks. I’ll see you up there.”
> 
> He knows he should be thinking of other things. He should flag down an assistant, have them run the analysis. He should prepare himself to feign excitement regarding the successful test. Perhaps, even, he should prepare his final words to Krennic, when an inevitable accusation comes.
> 
> But what he thinks about instead is the sound of Lyra’s voice. The range of it: wistful about some ancient culture; teasing him in the lab; critical of Krennic; fierce about the Empire; devoted when reading to Jyn; and soft at night in their bed. 
> 
> He’s betrayed his rule. He’s only supposed to think of them when he’s strong.
> 
> Instead his mind slips to the most dangerous question of all: where are the two loves of his life? Are they safe?


	8. Eadu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing action scenes is the bane of my existence. Super big thank you to the best bf ever for putting up with my constant discussion about how to work out the plot of this chapter. It's been a long time coming. 
> 
> Also thank you to all of my readers for coming along with me on this ride! Your kudos & comments are all super appreciated. I hope you enjoy this one :)

“What happened?”

This is how Lyra greets them, when they climb up the ramp and enter the cabin of his U-Wing. They’ve landed at the rendezvous point Bodhi suggested, a plateau close enough to the base but obscured by a tall rocky outcrop.

Lyra’s eyes run across his face, assessing his bruise. He looks past her, at the others sitting in the cabin. Bodhi slouches in a corner and quickly glances away when Cassian turns to him. Baze seems vaguely bored. Chirrut stares blatantly, unabashed, before glancing in Jyn’s direction. He frowns, shakes his head.

_You have no idea_ , Cassian thinks. Chirrut turns back to him, and somehow it feels like he does have an idea, like he sees right through him, to the man beneath the spy.

Cassian shrugs. “Just a little scuffle. We’re fine.”

“Jyn punched Cassian,” Kay says.

“What?” Lyra looks at her daughter, already bristling for a lecture. “Jyn?”

“We’re fine,” Cassian repeats. “Let’s focus on the mission.”

“If there’s a problem between you two, that pertains to the mission,” Lyra says, coldly, and Cassian hasn’t known her long, but he can’t remember ever hearing her like this. “This mission is dangerous enough as it is.”

He runs his hand through his hair. He needs to diffuse this. She’s right, of course, but there’s not enough time for whatever resolution she wants between him and her daughter. He’s not sure when there will be enough time, not sure he wants to take the time. His vault is cracking, little bits he doesn’t want to remember slipping through. Her words, among the last she said to him before she left: _Trust goes both ways_. They sting, every time he thinks of them. She turned her back on the rebellion, on her mother, on her team, people she supposedly cared about, because… why, exactly?

Lyra is staring at him and Jyn, and somehow, Jyn has remained quiet through all this. She hasn’t spoken since she woke up. Her screams from her nightmare, those also echo in his head. The last word he heard on her lips was his own name.

He rubs his hand over his face, wincing slightly as it brushes over his nose.

“We’re fine,” he says, for a third time. “It was just part of our diversion. For an ambush.”

Lyra crosses her arms, and Cassian doesn’t dare to look at her daughter.

“Jyn?” Lyra says.

“You heard him,” she mutters. It’s not particularly convincing, but Lyra gives up.

“Cassian, there was a message that came in for you. From Draven.”

#

Jyn watches as Cassian strides towards his radio.

“Did you send your message to Mothma?” he asks.

“Yes,” Lyra says. “This came after.”

He puts on the headset, turns away.

What will Draven ask of him now?

_“Have you told anyone?” “Yes, General Draven…_ ”

Her fingers search for the missing necklace, and she remembers with sudden clarity the feeling of unknotting the string before she handed it to her mother.

“ _We already have orders to continue to Galen, if we discover his location._ ”

It’s just a mission to him. Just orders. Orders to rescue papa. Orders to turn her in. Orders to do a background check on Liana Hallik. What he does, everything he does, is based on an order.

“ _I’m not in the habit of questioning my superiors._ ”

She remembers the feel of his lips, pressed against her temple.

“ _You can’t read a spy... We give away nothing and take everything. He is the worst of us._ ”

He played her.

She watches him until the headset falls away. When Cassian turns to look at Jyn and her mother, standing next to her, the mask is gone. Eyes dull with exhaustion regard the Erso women, hesitant.

“So. What does Draven want?” Her voice is thin, cold, a blade poised for the final cut.

Cassian shifts his gaze fully to her. Maybe it’s the bruise around his eye or maybe it’s something else, but she wants to look away. She doesn’t.

“He wants me to kill your father.”

For a second, Jyn is back outside, standing in the cold rain of Eadu. The words stumble through the fog of her brain.

“He can’t… How could he...” her mother says.

Lightning strikes.

“How long have you been planning this?” Jyn blurts out. Her nerves are electric.

The entire cabin goes quiet. Even Lyra.

“Pardon?” Cassian says.

“You heard me,” Jyn says. She stalks towards him as she speaks. “How long? When did Draven give the order? Was it just now, or maybe when you left Yavin 4? Maybe it was when you told him who I really was? Or maybe it was even before that? How long have you been lying?”

She’s inches from his face now, staring up at him, bracing herself for whatever words he’ll throw back at her. She sees his own storm brewing behind his eyes; he still hasn’t put his mask back on, but it’s all probably an act, anyways.

“You really think that I…” he starts, and she’s surprised by his tone, what almost sounds like hurt.

She won’t fall for it. “It’s what you do best, isn’t it? Follow orders.”

His face shifts; stunned eyebrows coalesce into anger, fury.

“Jyn, you don’t know—” Lyra starts to say.

Both Cassian and Jyn each put up a hand, cutting her off.

“You would have had me turn myself in,” Jyn says. “I was just a mission to you. A background check. You betrayed me to—”

“I was almost court-martialed for what I did,” he says, his voice rising. “In telling you what I told you. In letting you leave!”

“A court-martial, how very terrible. And what would Draven have done to _me_ , the daughter of an Imperial weapons scientist?”

“Why don’t you ask your mother?” He gestures towards Lyra without turning, without tearing his gaze away from Jyn, without sparing her any of this wrath. “You never leave anyone behind, oh no, not after your father and Saw left, you won’t do the same. What about your mother who stayed with you? You left her, to face Draven. Alone.”

“You didn’t have to tell him in the first place—”

“If it wasn’t me, it would have been someone else.” She won’t believe him. She glares up at him, already phrasing her retort, loading it into the barrel. “Were you going to be Liana Hallik for the rest of your life?”

Her response fizzles on her tongue. She says nothing.

Cassian turns to Lyra. Most of the tension in his face dissipates.

“I’m not going to kill your husband,” he says, softer, casting a rueful glance towards Jyn. “Since that apparently needs clarification.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Lyra says quietly.

Cassian backs away from Jyn, runs his hand through his hair. He looks around the room, as if only now remembering they have company.

“Since I can’t respond to Draven out here,” he says, shifting again, now all business. “He might send back up. We need a lookout. There’s a ridge up that way. Chirrut, Baze, Lyra, I need you there. Comm us if you see anything. Bodhi, Kay, Jyn. In the cargo ship.”

He starts walking towards the door immediately, to head off argument, but Lyra won’t let him escape.

“I want to come with you,” she says.

He pauses, looks at her. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Please, Cassian.”

Even Jyn turns away from the look in her mother’s eyes. She is surprised by Cassian’s next words, though.

“Fine. But follow orders.”

#

Back in the cargo ship, Bodhi strips out of his scarf and coat and settles into the pilot seat. Cassian and Lyra tug the stormtrooper uniforms over their clothes. Jyn remains in her worker uniform, but she fixes her hair and stuffs it back into the cap.

“We need another person,” she says. “There were two workers on the manifest.”

“I need at least two people keeping watch up here,” Cassian says.

Jyn crosses her arms, looks around the cabin. Her mother catches her eyes with a glare. “Alright,” Jyn says. “We’ll lock the ‘fresher and say he got sick from the ride.”

It doesn’t end up mattering. Bodhi sets them down at the back landing pad, by the cargo hangar, and when they emerge from the ship, it’s Bodhi that draws the most attention.

An officer waits for them at the bottom of the ramp.

“Rook.” He nods in greeting. He’s low-ranking, that’s all Jyn can determine. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”

“Hello, Officer Smeth,” Bodhi responds. Whoever he is, he still outranks Bodhi. “Why’s that?”

Bodhi’s voice trembles, just a little. Maybe he could attribute it to the cold rain splattering over their shoulders. She looks past Bodhi, into the hangar beyond the landing pad.

The officer clears his throat. “Well, there were rumors...”

“Rumors?” Bodhi laughs, awkwardly. Tense. Jyn tries to maintain her look of boredom. “What kind of rumors?”

“We didn't see your name on the schedule to return…”

“My uncle was sick,” Bodhi explains. “I was visiting him indefinitely. But with the evacuation...”

The officer looks him over. Jyn shivers a little, trying to cover Bodhi’s nervous ticks. It helps that it really is freezing out here.

“You can call Jedha, if you want. If they haven't all left yet. But Lieutenant Yardic won’t be too happy to have this cargo sitting out here.”

“Alright,” the officer says. “Go ahead and unload. I’ll verify in the meantime.”

#

Bodhi stays with the ship, ready for a quick getaway, while Jyn, Lyra, Cassian, and Kay continue inside.

The light in the hangar practically blinds her, after the darkness of the storm outside. She nearly knocks into a moving hover cart, but a white-armored hand pulls her out of the way. She looks up into a 'troopers mask, but she can't tell whether it's Cassian or her mother.

Kay has continued forward, towards a back corner with less foot traffic. Eyes now adjusted, she follows, dodging in between workers, droids, and carts. The hangar buzzes with activity; she can see three other ships in the process of unloading.

There's an alcove in the corner, slightly obscured from the rest of the hangar, and it's in here that Kay finally stops. As they follow him in, he plugs into the computer and closes the door behind them.

Cassian and Lyra take off their masks.

“Kay,” Cassian says, “search for a map and an agenda, anything flagged with Galen Erso’s name.”

“This isn't my first exfiltration, you know,” Kay says. “This isn't even my first exfiltration with Jyn Erso. Although I am much more useful in this environment.”

“A simple ‘okay’ would suffice,” Cassian mutters.

Kay does not respond. The room is silent while he searches. Cassian keeps an eye on the door. Jyn watches Kay, as if she could will him to work faster.

“Galen Erso's quarters are at the opposite end of this facility,” Kay finally says. “It would take approximately twenty-two minutes to walk there, assuming we run into no issues. The chances of…”

“Is he there now?” Lyra asks

“According to the schedule, there is a meeting between the head engineers that should have ended fourteen minutes ago, although the door access record indicates it has not.”

“How far away is that?” Cassian says.

“Seventeen minutes.” Kay pauses. “There is additional information regarding the schedule that you may find pertinent. Director Orson Krennic is currently en route to Eadu, and the schedule is being adjusted accordingly.”

“Krennic?” Lyra says, barely a whisper. “When?”

“Due to land on the upper platform within the hour.”

Her mother looks away, pensive, right hand tracing the top of the ‘trooper breast plate.

“Even if we made it to the conference room,” Cassian says, “there’s no guarantee he’d still be there.”

“If Krennic is coming, that meeting will end soon,” Lyra says, absently, gazing at the wall but not really seeing it. Then she starts, turns back to Kay. “What about the labs? Where are those?”

“Three floors above us,” Kay says. “They can be accessed using elevator G. Right around the corner.”

Now she looks around the room, eyes bright. “We can't go to him… so let's call him to us.”

#

Galen Erso is not having a great day.

To be fair, days spent working for the Empire (the cruelest organization to rule the galaxy) to engineer the Death Star (the deadliest super weapon in history) at a facility on Eadu (the wettest rock he's ever lived on) are rarely good.

But today, they tested it. They used it. And now Krennic is coming to gloat, no doubt, on their historic achievement. The weapon works, and they've destroyed a city known for rebel activity. A holy city. A city where he sent Bodhi Rook.

Perhaps Krennic has not just come to gloat. Perhaps he knows something else.

Perhaps the end has come.

He barely notices as the head engineers file out of the conference room, on their way to prepare for Krennic’s arrival. He barely notices when the loudspeakers, so rarely utilized, crackle on. He barely notices when the woman speaking says his name.

“Hey.” His coworker, Yonn, taps his shoulder, points up to indicate the loudspeaker.

“I repeat: Galen Erso, please report now to Lab Nineteen B for incoming specimen analysis.”

He must be imagining things. His life is passing before his eyes (or ears). He's hearing his wife's voice.

“That’s odd,” Yonn says. “Incoming specimen analysis? Now?”

Galen says nothing. Lyra’s face floats in front of him. “ _I have to buy you time. Only I can._ ” It’s what he’s been doing, for the last fourteen years. Buying time. Delaying the project. But now the time is up.

“Galen,” Yonn says, tapping him on the shoulder. “You better hurry, if you have to go to the lab _and_ prepare for Krennic’s arrival…”

“Right,” he finally says. “Thanks. I’ll see you up there.”

He knows he should be thinking of other things. He should flag down an assistant, have them run the analysis. He should prepare himself to feign excitement regarding the successful test. Perhaps, even, he should prepare his final words to Krennic, when an inevitable accusation comes.

But what he thinks about instead is the sound of Lyra’s voice. The range of it: wistful about some ancient culture; teasing him in the lab; critical of Krennic; fierce about the Empire; devoted when reading to Jyn; and soft at night in their bed.

He’s betrayed his rule. He’s only supposed to think of them when he’s strong.

Instead his mind slips to the most dangerous question of all: where are the two loves of his life? Are they safe?

#

The elevators are crowded. Jyn spends most of the time keeping track of Cassian and her mother, who blend in like every other stormtrooper. It’s the worst version of a familiar game from the Jedha marketplace—follow the crystal. Which cup is it in? (It was never really a crystal, but that’s what they called it. Usually it was an unwitting traveler’s coin, the price for losing.)

She has to be careful watching Kay, too. There aren’t many KX-series droids in this facility (she guesses), but even just one or two passing by are enough to keep her on her toes.

They make it to Lab Nineteen B without incident, and the second the door closes behind them, Jyn lets out the deep breath she’d been holding in.

Again, Cassian and Lyra take off their masks. Kay adjusts the security clearance to only allow Galen Erso to enter.

Now they wait.

If all goes well—if papa recognized mama’s voice, if he can get away, if someone else doesn’t question the need for ‘specimen analysis’ just moments before the arrival of a lieutenant commander—then she will see her father for the first time in over a decade. A man who she spent most of that time, well, not exactly hating, but…

Cassian clears his throat, and she realizes she’s been pacing. She stops, halfway down a row of lab equipment, and leans against the counter. Crosses her arms. Watches the door. The clock. Her mother.

Lyra Erso hasn’t moved. She found a spot near the front of the room; she will be the first person Galen sees when he enters, and she watches the door, ready. She has been waiting for this moment since that day on Lah’mu. But Jyn has only allowed herself to think of it since Jedha, since she watched her father’s message.

She doesn’t know how she’ll feel, when she sees that man from the hologram in person. The man who is her father but also is not. She’s only beginning to reconcile herself with the fact that what papa did, when he left them, when he went to work for the Empire, was harder for him than it was for them. Lyra had always understood that, it’s why she was burdened with guilt for leaving him. Lyra knew, when she led Jyn to the cave, what would happen to Galen.

Years of serving the Empire, of subverting the most efficient, brutal organization in the last millennia, has drained the peace and happiness from a man who had been one of the most loving, caring people she’d ever known. And he did it so she and her mother could escape, could remain free of the Empire. (“ _If you’re happy, Jyn…_ ”)

She’s squandered that sacrifice. Let it make her bitter, and never treated it for what it was worth. How can she face her father now?

“Hey. You alright?”

She starts, turns to see Cassian standing to her right. She looks up at him and doesn’t have any fight left in her. Her eyes shift to his. In the searing Imperial laboratory light, the cut on his nose blazes red, the bruise shines purple.

“I…” She trails off. Words abandon her now, and perhaps that’s only fair. When her father left with Krennic, it served a purpose. When her mother took them away from Saw, it served a purpose. When she left Yavin 4, what purpose did it serve? She swallows.

The door opens.

#

Both Jyn and Lyra straighten. Cassian keeps his hand near his blaster, just in case Galen is not alone.

But he is.

He steps in, dazed, eyes cloudy, and stares at Lyra as if she is a ghost, a dream. The door whooshes shut behind him.

“Lyra?” he finally says. Is this the man responsible for the planet killer? This man with his pale skin, haunted eyes, defeated shoulders?

“Galen.” His wife moves, quiet and quick, towards him, launching herself into his embrace. Moments go by, before Galen pulls away slightly to cup her face with his hand, still verifying she’s real.

Cassian looks away, looks at Jyn instead. Now she’s frozen still, staring at her parents when she should probably go join them. Her eyes glisten and her lip trembles so slightly that he knows he only notices because he’s standing so close.

His anger has burned away, shattered the lock on his vault, and left behind something rough and exposed and tight in his chest.

Could she really think he would kill her father? That he would be able to do that after everything? After knowing her?

But that’s just it. Before Jyn, he would have. If the order was given, if it was justified, if it was needed to protect the rebellion, he would have done it without hesitation. Ever since Horuz, ever since that night, something has changed. His trigger finger hesitates. A question floats at the back of his mind. Would he become the enemy he is fighting?

_Why do we do the things we do?_

He touches her shoulder; she nearly jumps out of her skin.

“Come on,” he says, nodding towards her parents. She takes a step, still staring at him wide-eyed, and he takes a step with her, and then she finally looks away, moves forward. Ahead of her, Galen and Lyra lean their foreheads against each other, whisper words Cassian can’t hear.

He pauses at the end of the row, and Jyn keeps going.

“Papa?” she says. His lips stop moving when he hears his daughter. He turns, slowly, and Lyra pulls away, still gripping his arm, and both parents look at Jyn with tears in their eyes.

“Jyn?” He’s still confused, still dreamy-eyed, but he welcomes Jyn into their embrace.

Again Cassian finds somewhere else to look; he spots Kay and joins him at the computer terminal. He’s about to ask for a time check when his comm crackles.

“Repeat,” Cassian says into it.

Baze answers. “Shuttle on the upper platform. Officer exited. Seems high ranking.”

Cassian swears. “Krennic,” he mutters. “Copy,” he says to Baze. “What is he doing?”

“Talking to other officers on the platform.”

Up front, the Ersos break apart. “What are you doing here?” Galen says, still unbelieving. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“We’re here to rescue you,” Jyn says, and she seems to have gained some of her strength back.

“Rescue me…” Galen rasps. “No. It’s too dangerous. Krennic is on his way. How did you get in here?”

“We have a ship. Bodhi…”

“Bodhi!” Now Galen steps back, glances over his shoulder to the door. “He came back? No, they know he defected… They’ll arrest him...”

“He is still safe on the tarmac,” Kay says. The Ersos all turn to him in synchrony. Jyn seems affronted that he’d interrupt; Galen stares like Kay is a puzzle to solve. “I have attempted to erase any records regarding his defection. I could not delete them, but I have temporarily restricted access from lower-level officers. It should buy us time to return to the ship.”

“Who are you?” Galen asks, and his gaze shifts to Cassian for the first time.

“We’re with the rebellion, sir,” Cassian says. He’ll wait to give his name until they’re safely aboard; you never know what might be recorded. “He’s been reprogrammed.”

“A reprogrammed KX-series,” Galen muses. “Interesting.”

“He’s not as cooperative as that might imply,” Jyn mutters.

Kay unplugs from the console. “I hardly think you’re a fair judge of that. I have not—”

“Alright.” Jyn’s expression goes dark, and she bites her lip when she glances back at her father.

Galen doesn’t seem to notice. He’s still watching Kay, and he smiles. “Who reprogrammed him?”

“I did,” Cassian says. “Sir, we should…”

His comm crackles again. Before he can raise it to his ear, the ground shakes.

Alarms sound. Another rumble, the roar of engines overhead.

The Alliance has arrived.

#

It takes less than a minute for the TIE fighters to appear. Below, the facility already burns from the first round of bombs the Alliance dropped. Baze suspects they’re coming back for more. Surprisingly, the high-ranking officer in white has not retreated to his ship. Just minutes before the bombs dropped, he’d disappeared inside, and for now, the bombs have not driven him back out.

He hopes, wherever they are, that the Ersos are alright. Chirrut said they’re the reason for this adventure, the reason they left home, the reason they’re getting involved in Alliance affairs that he’d much rather steer clear of. The Ersos burn bright in the Force, and now Chirrut’s willing to follow them across the galaxy. And where Chirrut goes, Baze goes.

Still, he’d rather his end not come in such a place as this: outside an Imperial facility in the rain on a planet more barren than Jedha. How is a planet that gets so much rain so barren?

Something whistles above his head. He fires his cannon at a TIE fighter and watches it spiral into the canyon.

The ground trembles and something erupts below. When he turns, a bright haze of orange and red marks where the U-Wing used to be. Their way home. Well, one way.

Chirrut fires his bowcaster; Baze follows the streak of light towards the landing pad, where the cargo ship still sits. The shot narrowly misses an X-Wing fighter: from Chirrut, that’s a warning shot. It veers up, away from the hangar.

“I thought we were working with the Alliance now,” Baze shouts above the rain and the roar of engines.

“We’re working with the Ersos,” Chirrut shouts back, somewhat impatient. “And that ship is our only way out of here.”

#

“Time to go,” Bodhi says to no one.

The landing pad is chaos. Smeth has vanished somewhere inside. Already one cargo ship has left, half unloaded.

Overhead, the rain splatters against the ship, engines roar, blaster fire shrieks like lightning. Orange flames and red and blue blast bolts light up the sky. Below, the ground quakes and rumbles.

Bodhi begins the startup sequence.

Another screech of burning red light is all the warning he gets before a cargo ship two over is hit, explodes, burns. Screams and shouts reach him, through the open cargo door below, mixing with the crackle of fire.

“Where are you?” he mutters.

#

Krennic hears the battle above, hears the shots and the engines and the bombs. The ground trembles beneath his feet and beneath the feet of the deathtroopers flanking him. No one stumbles. Smoke wafts, assaults his nostrils. His facility erupts into hell around him, but still he walks forward, undeterred, burning inside just this place, his house of achievement, burns on the outside.

Galen Erso. His one-time friend, his partner. Everything they had accomplished together, how could he do this? Tear it down around them?

And he didn’t even have the decency to meet him face to face. No, instead he chose to cower in the lab. The lab, of all places. Was their some kind of symbolism there?

“Director!”

He’s halfway to the lab when some low-ranking officer, someone who works in cargo, crashes towards him. Krennic ignores him, pushes past him. The man should know the evacuation procedure. Or are all his subordinates cowards?

“Director!” the man shouts again, chasing after him. “What’s happening?”

“Rebels are bombing us,” Krennic says, monotone, bored. Is this really a question he has to answer? No wonder the man worked in cargo.

The man gasps beside him. “Rebels?”

“Who else would it be?” Krennic doesn’t bother to look at the man. “Follow procedure, officer…”

“Smeth.” The man gulps. “Sir, we have a traitor among us.”

“What an astute conclusion,” Krennic says, picking up his pace.

“It’s Bodhi Rook, sir,” the officer says. “I’m sure of it.”

Despite himself, Krennic almost laughs. But then, they wouldn’t notify lower officers of their comrade’s defection. It could inspire imitative actions. “Why do you...”

“He’s here, sir,” the officer says. “He’s at the cargo bay.”

“And you left him alone?” Krennic practically growls. He should be celebrating, right now. He should be celebrating the historic achievement of the success of their superweapon. And instead he’s talking to an imbecile cargo officer and chasing two traitors while his facility falls apart around him.

Someone is going to pay, someone is going to burn for this.

He waves at the deathtroopers, redirecting them. Galen won’t be in the lab.

#

If anything, the confusion inside helps cover their escape. Galen Erso might normally draw curious looks in this part of campus, but no one even notices him as they race to wherever it is they think they ought to be.

Jyn leads the way, Lyra and the rebel who wouldn't give his name walk on either side of him, and the KX-series behind.

Then they reach the hangar.

Efficient, Imperial order has broken down. Stormtroopers race by, towards the entrance, and he can just make out flames consuming one of the cargo ships. It must have been completely unloaded because if the shots had hit any kyber crystals…

The stormtrooper on his right (the rebel) grabs his arm and tugs him forward just a little faster. Galen obeys, quickens his pace, because even on the off chance the Alliance fighters are gone, it’ll be moments before that fire spreads and reaches a shipment of crystals.

They’re fifteen yards from the entrance when it happens. He’s pushed and sprawling on the floor before he even hears it, the loud boom that resonates across the platform and echoes into the hangar. Shrapnel flies overhead. Ears ringing, he shifts; the stormtrooper that threw him down is already moving off him and helping him up. He’s lost track of whether it’s Lyra or the rebel, but then he sees Jyn helping another ‘trooper up and makes a guess that she protected her mother.

Flames dance all across the platform now. The sky flashes and he sees silhouettes of TIE fighters and X-Wings. The facility rumbles behind them and he hears a distant explosion in the direction of the front platform, where Krennic’s shuttle is scheduled to land.

“Let’s go,” Jyn says, from his left. She’s produced a blaster from somewhere and carries it at her side. A troop of stormtroopers appears, and she raises it slightly, but they race by. When they pass, Jyn continues forward, leading them towards the ship on the far right of the platform, a Zeta-class cargo ship with the ramp still down.

His daughter pauses at the end of the hangar, stands behind a crate and peers out into the rain, up at the sky.

It’s forty yards from the hangar to the ship. Several stacks of abandoned crates lie in the way. Most likely, they’re filled with kyber crystals, and serve more as obstacles and booby traps than actual cover.

Jyn turns to him. “We’ll have to sprint—” she starts, and then a red blast bolt sizzles in the air between them.

In the split second between the bolt and being pulled down behind a stack of crates, Galen spots him. The white cape blazes in his mind’s eye.

“It’s Krennic,” Lyra says, crouching next to him. Jyn sucks in a sharp breath.

“Go,” the rebel says. “I’ll cover you.”

He’s already holding a blaster rifle, ready to pop up from behind the crates to shoot.

Jyn looks up at him, and it’s been so long, but Galen still recognizes that look of uncertainty, and the stubbornness it settles into.

“One blaster against...”

“Jyn,” the rebel says, voice distorted by the ‘trooper helmet. “Don’t argue with me on this.”

“You’ve faced worse odds,” Lyra says, taking her daughter’s hand.

“But…”

It’s only a little bit disturbing, to see his daughter gazing at a stormtrooper that way. Even if he knows, objectively, this man is with the rebellion.

“You need to go!” the rebel shouts.

Lyra looks to Galen. “Come on,” she says.

And his daring, fierce wife springs forward, racing across the tarmac, Jyn in tow. As he rises to follow, so does the rebel, peering up and shooting. Out of the corner of his eye, Galen sees the death troopers surrounding Krennic, advancing towards them.

He runs.

He can barely keep up with Lyra and Jyn, relies on adrenaline to mask the pain and fatigue of his old, creaking bones. He’ll ache in an hour. They pause at the first crate to let him catch up.

“No,” he says, refusing to crouch beside them. He speaks between pants. “These will catch. Explode.”

Lyra comprehends immediately, and she jolts up, clutching Jyn’s wrist, and then she’s off again.

Above: cannon fire. Behind: something explodes, propels him forward just a little, heat on his neck.

And then his feet slip, switching from the tarmac to the wet metal ramp. Lyra catches him, pulls him up, dragging both husband and daughter now. He looks up at her, amazed, and then they are inside.

Lyra releases him, and he settles down onto the nearest bench.

“Let go, mama,” Jyn is saying, her mother’s intensity mirrored in her eyes.

“Only if you promise not to go back out there,” Lyra says.

“He needs help.” His daughter, his stardust, is a force of rage. He can barely look at her face; he can barely look away.

“I can’t lose someone else to Krennic!” Lyra shouts back.

“Neither can I!” Jyn says. In the flickering firelight, her face glistens, from rain or from tears? Who is this man? Her voice lowers. “I’ll come back, mama. I promise.”

Lyra lets go. Jyn disappears, and his wife follows, slowly, to stand at the bottom of the ramp, watching.

#

A crate burns, directly between them and the hangar. The tarmac is scored, blacker than the darkness around them.

She can’t see Cassian behind the flames.

But when she looks up, she sees only rain and clouds and lightning, natural lightning, hot white, forking across the charcoal sky. The ships are gone.

The tarmac is a maze of fire, of embers burning in oil streaks, of grasping flames stretching, towering, spitting sparks higher and higher. She darts through it, rounds a pile of crates, and sees an empty hover cart ahead.

She plants herself behind it, searches, aims her rifle. There. Cassian and Kay, sprinting. ‘Troopers firing, blast bolts inches from their feet. Jyn fires. Once. Twice. Cassian and Kay find cover.

She looks around again. Where is he? The ghost in white? The man responsible for tearing apart her family?

Turning, she sees him through the smoke, at the edge of the hangar, advancing, three deathtroopers surrounding him. She could pick them off, she could—

Something catches the back of her Imperial uniform.

She’s dangling for the second time in Kay-Tu’s grasp—she assumes it’s Kay-Tu, she hopes it’s Kay-Tu—and then he drags her forward, towards that stack of crates she passed, and sets her down. A stormtrooper is there, grabbing her arm.

“What are you doing?” Cassian yells, but his voice is slightly muted through the ‘trooper speaker.

“These crates will blow,” she says as an answer, and she pulls him back the way she came before he can say anything else.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” he shouts, as they run together towards the ship, Kay-Tu’s plodding footsteps not far behind.

“You shouldn’t have stayed back,” she shouts in return.

In front of them, fire races down a line of oil, straight towards the last set of crates between them and the ship. Without warning, she yanks Cassian left, out of the way, throwing him to the ground.

When she looks up, the first sight she sees is her mother, ‘trooper mask discarded, eyes wide, one hand clinging to the ramp actuator and the other clutching the kyber pendant that she must have dug out from beneath her uniform.

“Come on.” She grunts, pulling Cassian up, but he’s fine, he’s fine, and they’re running again, closing the distance.

Lyra shouts something into the ship, and the ramp starts closing.

They leap onto it, running up the ramp as it raises and the ship lifts off. Her legs shake beneath her, and Jyn only gives in to gravity when they are at the top, safely inside. She collapses in a tangled heap with Cassian, and as the ship roars upwards, she braces herself against him.

#

Cassian lets go of Jyn as the ship settles down onto the plateau, where they left Chirrut and Baze.

Kay, who nearly tripped over the two of them when he’d clattered up the ramp behind them, only sidestepping them at the last second, is the first to speak.

“Perhaps there is a better place to sit,” he says, not even looking at them, walking towards the ladder to the cockpit.

As if suddenly waking, Jyn rises, but offers no retort. She settles on the other side of her father, so that Galen Erso is now surrounded by his family.

Bodhi opens the hatch.

Chirrut and Baze, drenched, climb up the ramp.

“Captain,” Chirrut says, nodding, and Cassian remembers he still has his mask on. He takes it off as Baze passes without a word. Chirrut adds over his shoulder, “Your ship is gone.”

Cassian hasn’t bothered much with his other mask, the spy mask, since they left Jedha, and he doesn’t bother now. His head whips back to peer into the rain outside, and sure enough, he sees his U-Wing burning. He’s still looking out at it as the ramp closes, and he only turns back into the cabin when it’s gone from view.

A ship is just a tool, like a hydrospanner, like a blaster, like a computer. And Cassian is not a sentimental person. You can’t be, in a rebellion. You can’t be, when you lose your home and your family at six years old.

But when his eyes accidentally find their way to Jyn, he wonders if she is thinking of the same moments he is. Moments that have slipped out of his unlocked vault. They met in front of that ship. They kissed in that ship. The first real smile she ever gave him came in that ship.

She’s not smiling now, hasn’t smiled at him since they met again on Jedha. (Why would she smile at him when he betrayed her?)

He looks away. (But she did come back for him.) As the ship rises, he settles into the seat next to Baze, on the other side of the cabin from the Ersos.

The ship lurches into hyperspace.

#

“Hello, Galen.”

Jyn looks up at Chirrut, sitting across from her, gaze focused on her father.

“I am Chirrut Îmwe, and this is my partner, Baze Malbus.”

“Hello,” her father says. He hesitates, as if trying to decide what to ask first. Chirrut has that effect. Jyn lets out a slightly bemused sigh as her father finally settles on, “Are you with the rebellion, too?”

“No,” Chirrut says.

“The Partisans?” he asks, brow furrowing, because it’s only a guess to him that perhaps the Partisans and the rebellion could be two different groups now. Jyn clutches her father’s arm a little tighter.

“No,” Chirrut says again. “We follow the Force.”

“They’re Guardians of the Whills,” Lyra says.

Galen looks at his wife and notices the kyber crystal around her neck. “You still have this,” he says, reaching out. He picks it up, fingers tracing the ridges.

“Of course I do,” she says. “It reminds me of you.” She pauses. “Although Jyn and I share it, sometimes.”

Galen lets go of the crystal and it falls, gently, against the stormtrooper breastplate. “So many crystals,” he says. “All destroyed.”

“There are more,” Chirrut says to him.

“More crystals?” Lyra asks.

“Well, yes,” Chirrut says patiently. “Some even on this ship. But also more opportunities.”

“More hope,” Jyn offers. She feels Cassian’s eyes on her, and she meets his gaze, just briefly.

“To make things right again,” Chirrut finishes.

When Jyn looks at her father, his eyes are closed, he has more wrinkles than she remembers, he seems so fragile, about to break. She takes his hand.

“Can you ever forgive me?” he asks, so soft, it’s meant only for her and her mother to hear. Whether he means for leaving them on Lah’Mu, or joining the Empire, or creating the Death Star, Jyn can’t tell. Probably it’s all three.

“Oh, Galen,” Lyra says, her voice breaking. She leans her head against his. “Could _you_ ever forgive _me_?”

Galen starts, shifting in his seat. But then Bodhi clatters down the ladder, staring wide-eyed at Galen. Her father looks up at him, and Bodhi’s slight smile eases away some of his regret.

“Bodhi,” he says, and he lets go of Jyn’s hand, Lyra slides away. Galen stands. Jyn supposes he has to be good at wearing masks, too, good at flipping the switch. Yet some emotion still lingers in his voice. “This is all thanks to you.”

“Well, I wouldn’t—” Before he can stammer out the rest, Galen embraces him, claps him on the back.

“It begins with you,” Galen says, stepping away. “Thank you.”

“I’m just the pilot,” Bodhi says, but he’s blushing and his grin widens. “He’s the captain.” He points to Cassian. “He and Jyn, they made the plans. They did everything. Stole the ship. Rescued you.”

Galen finally turns to Cassian. Jyn cannot read him at all, not because he’s smoothed it over into spy neutrality, but rather the opposite. A mix of expressions run across his face. Is he nervous?

“Cassian Andor,” he says, standing up to shake Galen’s hand. “Rebel intelligence.”

Galen looks him over, assessing, but not critical. Then he looks back at her, and suddenly she’s the one feeling nervous.

“My daughter risked her life, going back for you,” Galen says, and it’s not judgmental, just a fact.

In any other circumstance, Jyn might laugh at the panic on Cassian’s face, but it just so happens to mirror hers. He sorts himself out faster than she does.

“That’s Jyn for you,” he says, and he sounds sincere, not sarcastic. “She won’t leave anyone behind.”

She fidgets under her father’s gaze and wishes she could melt into the floor. Soon enough, her father will find out the truth. Her shame. She did run away.

As for right now, her father simply stares at her, like he knows he’s not getting the full story, but he can wait.

Cassian clears his throat. “It’s good to meet you, sir. I’ve heard a lot about you. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to change out of this...” He gestures to the stormtrooper uniform.

“Of course,” Galen says. Cassian nods as a thank you, and heads up the ladder.

When he’s gone, Jyn catches her father sharing some kind of look with her mother, something sort of curious and amused. After all these years, they can still communicate without speaking. Galen is silent until he returns to his spot between Jyn and Lyra.

“He seems like a good man,” Galen says, and static buzzes in her brain when she wonders why he might be saying that specifically to her. And also, how can Galen possibly reach such a conclusion when they’ve barely said fifty words to each other?

Well, Cassian did help _rescue_ her father. She supposes, if someone rescued her, that would incline her to like them rather quickly.

“He is,” Lyra says, when Jyn takes too long to respond. “We owe him quite a bit.”

“Have you know him a long time?”

“Four years,” Jyn says quietly. And really, it’s not that long of a time, especially when you consider how infrequently they saw each other. Still. It feels like she’s known him forever.

“Excuse me, papa,” she says, surprising herself. She stands up, hugs him, kisses his cheek.

Really, she ought to give her parents some privacy to catch up.

#

Lyra watches her daughter follow Cassian to the cockpit. _About time_ , she thinks, and she hopes, she has a feeling, that Jyn is finally ready to make amends.

Which reminds Lyra that she has her own amends to make.

“Galen,” she says, taking his hand.

Before she can speak, he says, “You don’t need to ask, Lyra.”

“You don’t know what I was going ask,” she says.

“Yes, I do.” Galen squeezes her hand. “And I couldn’t bear it if I heard you ask it again. There is nothing for me to forgive.”

“I left you,” she says. Her eyes water and she pauses to blink the tears away. “I left you with Krennic, let him bring you here, let him…”

“Shh,” Galen says. He wraps his arm around her, and while she can barely believe she’s in his embrace again, all she can think is that maybe she could have been here years ago. If she had acted sooner, if she had told Mothma the truth sooner, if she had worked with the Alliance and trusted them sooner...

“You raised our daughter, on your own,” Galen says, tipping her chin up so he can look into her eyes. “I couldn’t be more grateful.”

Her tears fall freely then, and it feels silly, for those to be the words that release them, but she can’t hold them anymore. Galen slides his thumb over her cheek, wipes them away.

They’re both silent for several beats. Finally, when the tears stop flowing, Galen drops his hand and grasps Lyra’s.

“Tell me about Jyn,” he says.

#

“Receipt confirmed. The Alliance knows we’re arriving in a stolen ship.”

Jyn spots Kay-Tu first, sitting in the co-pilot chair. His head swivels in her direction as she climbs up out of the ladder. If he’s talking, Cassian must be present. Sure enough, she spots him to her left, towards the hall that leads to the bunks. He’s just stripping off the last of the armor, tossing it to the ground, putting on his own boots.

His rebel jacket suits him much better. Her stomach churns and she contemplates retreating, but where would she go? She just left downstairs, and he’s blocking the bunks.

He’s about to say something when he catches sight of her face. He pauses.

“Thanks, Kay,” he says. “Can you go downstairs?”

“I can.” The droid doesn’t move. “But it is not easy. The ladder is narrow.”

“I need you to take stock of the remaining crystals on board.”

“I can do that from…”

“Kay.”

If a droid could sigh, she imagines he would. But he makes no sound, just complies with Cassian’s request. Jyn steps out of his way as he goes to the ladder, and it is awkward, watching him climb down.

After a few moments of silence, Cassian walks to the front of the cockpit, checks something on a screen. Jyn stays where she is, unable to move, her fingers clutching the back of the tech station chair.

“You should be with your father,” he says, without looking up.

“I thought I’d give them some privacy.”

If Cassian thinks that’s odd, considering everyone on board is downstairs except for the two of them, he doesn’t say so. He just turns, watches her, waiting to see what she came to say. The left side of his face is angled away from the bright lines of hyperspace streaming past the windows, so his bruise is shadowed, less obvious.

She takes a deep breath. Her heart is thudding in her chest, making it hard to talk.

Two words. That’s all she needs to say, to start with. Two short words.

But they stick in her throat.

All she can think about is a little girl on Lah’mu who loved her parents. A little girl who was happy playing in the grass and the mud with her toys. A little girl whose father left her behind and took a piece of her heart with him. And instead of mourning, she had to be tough. Had to survive in the Partisans. Had to make the Empire pay for her ruined childhood.

In order to survive, she couldn’t think about what that childhood would have been (even as her mother tried as much as possible to maintain her own expectations of normalcy). She locked that little girl down in her cave so she wouldn’t feel beholden to her, wouldn’t have to face her childhood innocence with the guilt of what she’d left behind to become.

And Cassian opened the metal hatch to her cave, and reminded her again of what it meant to love another. The vulnerability. The inevitable loss. The pain. She ran from him as much as she ran from herself, from the memory of who she used to be.

But how can she say all this to Cassian? How can she admit to the spy that he’d won, that he’d unraveled her? That he’d collided into her, ignited her, broken her to pieces, exploded her to ashes, to stardust?

“Jyn.” When she looks up, he’s taken the two steps down from the cockpit towards her, and the tears she was holding back blur her vision and overflow and slide down her cheek, and his expression is soft, and torn, and raw, again a mirror for her own feelings.

She _almost_ walks to him. But she can’t, not yet.

“Everyone I’ve ever… cared about,” she says. Her voice is hoarse and scratchy. “I’ve lost. Except, maybe, mama. But she lied to me.” She closes her eyes and another set of tears falls. “She lied about Saw.” When she opens her eyes to look back at him, his face hasn’t changed. He doesn’t seem surprised. “Mama and papa abandoned each other. It’s what war makes you do, you can’t…”

“Jyn,” Cassian says. His voice is the kindest, softest sound she’s ever heard. “Come here.”

His arms are warm around her, his shoulder is soft when she buries her face in his jacket, and his smell is so familiar, like a place she’s been before, like a place she’s longed for. She wraps her arms around him, and he fits there like he always has.

“I’m sorry,” she sobs into his jacket, and it’s so muffled she’s not sure he can understand. His arms tighten around her. His lips brush the top of her hair, and she sobs a little harder. Undone, unraveled, unmade. She’s left with the Jyn Erso she’s buried away, beneath layers of fighting and rebellion and hardness. Her armor lies in pieces below her heart.

Time sneaks by. Cassian’s hand tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, traces her chin, and she looks up into his eyes, gleaming in the light of hyperspace. His eyes are red, too. She reaches up and wipes away the wet trail of a tear already shed. His scruff is scratchy beneath her fingertips and this feels familiar, too.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, this time clearer, staring straight into his eyes.

He leans his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry, too.”

She thinks she may have stopped breathing.

Her hand can still move, though, and it slides from his jaw to his neck to his hair, and she tilts her head up, just a little, to ask a question.

He answers. His lips are soft, too, like his eyes, his voice, his face, his arms; soft and warm and so familiar, and she knows what that feeling is, the feeling that this is her past, present, and future, the feeling that this is the place she misses when she is not there.

This is home.


	9. Yavin 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I have a novel of an author's note, but here we go:
> 
> (1) Thank you as always to everyone who reads, gives a kudos, and comments! I am sorry I have not responded to comments and I will do that now/over the weekend.
> 
> (2) I know this took forever. This was partly because of Rebelcaptain Appreciation Week, which took both time and energy, and also because I realized that my original outline just did not make any sense and I actually had to rethink a good chunk of the plot. Big shout-out to the bf for putting up with my fretting over this and also for helping me plot some things out.
> 
> (3) DISCLAIMER: Okay, so, the Rogue One novelization by Alexander Freed is an amazing book, and I highly recommend reading it for great insights into many characters, not just Jyn and Cassian. This chapter was heavily influenced by it, in particular two scenes. This is a little spoilery, but, come on, we all knew the second of these was coming: (a) the scene between Draven & Mothma, and (b) the council meeting. The Draven & Mothma scene here takes place in the same time & setting as the one in the novelization, but of course because the timeline is different, what they say and even think is different, too. The council meeting was tricky for me. I felt that certain characters either remained unchanged by the canon divergence because they just don't interact with Lyra or Jyn (e.g., Senator Pamlo), or, in the case of Mothma and Jyn, some words seemed to be so integral a part of their thinking that I opted to keep them the same.
> 
> TL;DR: dialogue/speeches given by the following characters during the council meeting scene belong to Alexander Freed (with some minor alterations on my part): Mon Mothma, Senator Pamlo, some of the random shouts in the chaos, and Jyn.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, there's a little homage to A New Hope in here, see if you could find it. :) 
> 
>  
> 
> OKAY anyways without further ado...

Chirrut can feel it: the knot of tension gripping the ship untangles, releases, clears. Like a burden lifted. Like clouds parting.

He smiles, and Baze elbows him. “What?” Baze asks.

The Force hums around him. He finds Baze’s hand and squeezes it. “We are one with the Force, and the Force is with us.”

Baze snorts. But then he says, “Okay,” and Chirrut can hear the smile in it.

One storm lies behind them. Another lies ahead. But for now, they are granted a pocket of peace.

#

Jyn breaks away first, cheeks tinged pink, eyes bright. It leaves him breathless. He wants to kiss her again. But she sighs and rests her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder.

“We should head back down,” Cassian says. Even though he’d rather not. It strikes him as a surprise, but he’d rather stay in this spot, this moment, this brief in between, with Jyn in his arms and hope floating in his chest. Anything to push out reality and the future waiting for them back on Yavin 4.

“Yes,” she says, but she doesn’t move right away. She sighs again. Her arms tighten around him. “What happens when we get back to base?”

He doesn’t answer right away, but his arms go rigid around her.

“Cassian?”

#

Lyra tells their story, and Galen listens.

It’s bittersweet, hearing about those lost years: time he should have, would have spent with them. He wants to know it all, of course; he wants to know what they’ve endured and what they’ve enjoyed. Fifteen years is a large hole to fill, a lot of time to cover. Hundreds of moments, tears he couldn’t wipe away, laughs he couldn’t share, questions he couldn’t answer.

Lyra goes quickly to catch him up to the present. When she tells him about their years with Saw, he’s horrified to picture his little Stardust, handling weapons and bombs. What could he have expected from a man like Saw? He sighs in relief as Lyra hastily explains how she tried her best to take Jyn away from all that.

But the fire of rebellion caught in Jyn’s heart—she’s her mother’s daughter, he thinks, with a little bit of awe and a little bit of worry. He’s already seen her in action, of course: her focus as they navigated the Eadu facility, her intensity as she argued with her mother about Cassian, and the way she seemed so comfortable, natural, hoisting the blaster rifle in her hands. His daughter, a warrior.

Yes, it’s bittersweet, the mingling taste of pride and regret.

“When we arrived on Dantooine,” Lyra is saying. “It was better. She made some friends, she met Cassian. I started working with Mon Mothma.”

“The senator?” Galen asks, though he vaguely remembers she left the senate around the time the Emperor took power.

“Yes,” Lyra says. She continues, describing her role as one of Mothma’s assistants, and while he couldn’t be more impressed that his wife found a more peaceful role of resistance, something nags at the back of his mind.

He digs through his memory, trying to bring up what he knows about Mon Mothma. She opposed Palpatine, he thinks maybe she made some sort of live speech against him, that maybe it was why she left the Senate. His memories of that time are hazy, full of other things.

But what would this woman—his wife’s new mentor, advisor, friend, and leader of the Alliance—think of him? An Imperial weapons scientist who left behind his family to pursue the construction of a planet killer?

“Galen?” Lyra says, squeezing his hand. “Are you alright?”

“Of course, dear,” he says. He lifts up her hand and kisses her knuckles. “Go on. I’m listening.”

And even if Mon Mothma is as magnanimous as Lyra claims, what about the rest of the rebellion? Saw might back him up—if he is there. Lyra promises he will be. Galen isn’t so sure. Did he escape Jedha in time?

The thought of Jedha weighs on him. He hasn’t told his rescuers that news yet. He will have to. It will, no doubt, come up with the rebel leaders. But Lyra is talking, and he has that excuse to delay the revelation just a little longer. It’s Bodhi’s homeworld, after all. And presumably Chirrut’s and Baze’s, too.

Chirrut looks up, suddenly, as if Galen had spoken his name out loud. For the first time, the Guardian’s face darkens. Galen does not know as much about the Force as his wife does, but his stomach churns at the possibility: can Chirrut hear his thoughts? Galen watches him for a moment, but if he heard that question, he gives no sign.

“Mama!”

Lyra stops mid-sentence and glances towards the ladder. Jyn skips the last two rungs and hops down.

“What is it, sweetheart?” His wife’s gaze searches Jyn’s face for something. “Everything alright?”

“Yes. Fine. Good.” His daughter’s cheeks tinge just the slightest shade of pink. “You should send Mothma an update. So everyone is… prepared.”

Jyn’s eyes glance towards him, just briefly.

“Of course,” Lyra says. She squeezes his hand again, then stands. “I won’t be long.”

Galen watches her go, passing Jyn, who settles in beside him. Lyra is two steps from the ladder before he speaks.

“Wait.”

Jyn, Lyra, and Chirrut all turn to him. He swallows.

“There’s something else you might want to add to your report.”

Now everyone watches him. He rubs his hands on his pants. He’s still wearing his Imperial uniform. He wonders if there’s anything he can change into. He takes a deep breath.

“We… the Empire tested it.” No one says anything. “The Death Star. The… planet killer.”

It would be better if he could look someone in the eye, but he can’t. Can’t bear to see the fear or the disappointment on their faces. Can’t bear to see them look at him as the monster he really is.

“Where?” Lyra says, her voice sharp.

“Jedha.” Someone in front of him, Baze or Chirrut, makes a noise. “Not the whole moon. But… the Holy City.”

“What does that mean?” Baze has shifted forward to the edge of his seat. His eyes bore into Galen’s face.

“NiJedha is gone,” Chirrut says.

Galen picks at the fabric of his pants. The cabin is silent. He can hear the hum of the engine.

“I’m sorry,” he says. It’s not enough. He feels foolish even saying it.

“Gone,” Bodhi repeats. Galen forces himself to look at his friend, the pilot, the man he owes everything. Bodhi stares into his lap, eyes slightly hidden by the hair falling over his forehead. He also still wears his Imperial uniform. This is a cargo ship, is it possible one of these unloaded crates contains something else to wear?

“We weren’t fast enough,” Bodhi says, and Galen silently begs him not to look over. “We failed.”

“No.” Jyn’s voice breaks in like a knife. “We haven’t failed. Not yet. Papa, you said we could destroy it.”

“That’s why they were evacuating,” Bodhi says to himself, not listening to Jyn.

“Papa. Tell them. Tell them what you said.”

Again, everyone turns to him. Eyes piercing, waiting. These are the gazes of friends, he knows. How will the rest of the Alliance look at him?

“The exhaust port.” He can barely speak around the lump in his throat. “It’s a design flaw. If a pilot can hit the exhaust port, the whole system will go down. Will be destroyed.”

“We can defeat this,” Jyn says. Galen looks up at the sound of her voice, so determined and reassured and full of hope. Her bright eyes survey the room, linger on each face, and he follows her gaze, finally daring to look at the others. Cassian stands next to the ladder, still clutching a rung like he just came down, and Galen never even heard him. Jyn holds his gaze just a little longer than the rest. “We can destroy it.”

“How can we trust you?” Baze says. “The word of an Imperial scientist and his daughter?”

Jyn’s eyes widen. She knows these people, Galen thinks, and she’s surprised by this reaction. If her own friends won’t believe her...

“I trust her,” Chirrut says. “If she believes, I believe.”

“Thank you, Chirrut,” Jyn says. She turns back to Lyra. “It’s the council we’re really going to have to convince. Mama, you should write your report.”

Lyra nods and turns to Cassian. “Did you contact Draven yet?”

“No,” he says. “I thought we could coordinate.”

Galen looks down at his hands again, and Jyn covers them with hers.

“It’s okay, papa,” she says. “We’re in this together.”

That’s what he’s afraid of.

#

Draven stares at the back of Mon Mothma’s head. Past her silhouette, ships rise and fall, red and green dots blinking against the sky. A breeze blows through the opening that takes up one side of her office, rustling the plastic tarp that serves as protection from rain and sun.

Again, Andor has disobeyed orders. He can’t exactly mention that to Mothma now. Draven wants to give the captain the benefit of the doubt; he’d had both Erso women to contend with, the pilot that Galen Erso had sent, and whoever these two Guardians of the Whills were. He was outnumbered.

But that hasn’t stopped him in the past.

And in the last year, ever since the incident with Jyn Erso, Andor’s judgment has been—different. Not poor, exactly, but more cautious and less productive.

Sighing, Draven glances at the clock.

“Lyra’s report confirms the earlier one,” Mothma says quietly. He knows which one she is talking about; a contact from the Senate notified them of a complete evacuation of Imperial troops followed by a massive energy surge in the Jedha system. He’d written back telling her not to engage the source. “You still think it’s a trap?”

“We don’t know enough to be sure about anything,” Draven says. Neither Lyra’s nor Andor’s reports explained how they knew about the attack on Jedha. Did they witness it? Draven didn’t think so. He suspected their claims were based on the word of the passenger they carried, the passenger that was supposed to be dead.

“Let me debrief them first,” Draven repeats, and to Mothma’s credit, she does not sigh or shrug her shoulders or make any movement suggesting her frustration.

Yet she does say no.

“There isn’t the time. Besides...” She turns, finally, and gives him a half smile. “The council will handle the interrogation well enough, don’t you think?”

He isn’t sure what kind of results their questions will yield, but sure, the mix of generals, politicians, and guerrillas will run everyone through the gamut. It just wasn’t the way he preferred secrets to be handled.

“After everything the Ersos have done for the rebellion,” Mothma says. “You still don’t trust them.”

“Galen Erso has been an Imperial scientist for most of his adult life, despite the gap on Lah’mu. And Jyn Erso deserted the rebellion.”

“Because she was afraid of what we might do,” Mothma says, patiently, “once we knew who her father was. She’s young. She made a mistake.”

Draven scoffs. “This is a rebellion, not university. Mistakes have consequences. Mistakes cost lives.”

Mothma nods. Her face turns to stone and he braces himself for words she only delivers reluctantly. “Why did you authorize a strike team on Eadu?”

He meets her gaze as he works out an answer.

Before Eadu, when they’d received Lyra’s message but no message from Andor, Draven hadn’t been completely worried. Andor could be trusted, didn’t require frequent check-ins, and was one of his best agents for those reasons. Draven never doubted that Andor had his reasons for staying silent.

He did doubt what those reasons might be.

(A year ago, he never would have second guessed him.)

So Draven had sent a reminder, a nudge, and still Andor had not responded. The only way to ensure the execution of Galen Erso was to send in the strike team; that was what mattered the most. The Imperial weapons scientist posed too much of a risk, and as he had suspected from the start, sending the man’s wife had jeopardized everything.

And he had barely factored in the potential influence of the daughter.

He couldn’t say definitively how he felt about Jyn Erso. Every report he had read described a person absolutely dedicated to the rebellion. If she hadn’t lied about her identity and if she hadn’t run away, he might have considered Andor’s and Melshi’s recommendation to add her to his team. But she did lie and she did run away.

“You don’t need to answer that, General.”

“Why do you trust them?”

She lets out a huff of sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “You will not like my answer.”

“A politician’s intuition, then?” His scoff is only somewhat skeptical.

Mothma’s head dips in a small nod. “I’ve known Lyra for four years. There is a look she gets when she talks about the Empire. It is a look I am very familiar with.”

“Defiance?”

“Fire. Spirit. Hope. Yearning.” She glances away for a second. “She never had any love for the Empire, and when they took her husband away, her resolve solidified.”

“But that doesn’t account for the daughter.”

“From what I gather, they are very much alike.” She turns back to Draven, her wry smile appearing once more. “Didn’t you listen to Captain Andor’s testimony last year? He described something similar in Jyn.”

He leans back, looks at the treetops. He’d dismissed that comment when he’d heard it, had attributed it to whatever feelings Andor had allowed to cloud his judgment. Perhaps he should reconsider. Would Cassian Andor fall for anyone who didn’t live for the rebellion as much as he did? Draven had always trusted the captain before.

He changes tactics.

“The council may not agree. It may be too late for Erso to testify in front of the Senate. Maybe the council would rather fight. Maybe it’s all an elaborate trap.”

“I know.” She clasps her hands. “The point is that we discuss our options as a group.”

He nods. “If they do decide to fight, I’ll make sure we’re ready. I’ll call in troops and hold them in reserve.”

“Thank you.”

Draven stands and leaves.

#

The air of Yavin 4 is hotter, more acrid than Jyn remembers. Even as they descend the ramp, the humidity clings to her. And at the bottom, a crowd of rebels waits for them. Bodhi mentioned it from the cockpit as they settled onto the landing pad. A woman in white, he said. And someone severe and high-ranking. Mothma and Draven, part of their welcoming committee. Who else waits for them? Are there any Pathfinders there? Melshi? Kes?

The cockpit seems pretty tempting right now. The controls call to her, promising a whole galaxy beneath her fingertips.

Her steps stutter, but Cassian is at her side. “I’m with you,” he says, close to her ear.

She nods just slightly, enough to show acknowledgment, but says nothing. The long flight has done little to ease her nerves, and tension knots in her stomach.

Her mother leads the way, looking the opposite of how Jyn feels. Cool, confident, her head held high, wearing an expression more typical on Jyn’s features, an expression that says, “You want to fight? You’ll never win.”

(She’s missed her mother, that’s for certain.)

Bodhi and her father follow behind them (an effort to put as many trusted Alliance members between the troops and him), then Baze and Chirrut, and finally, K-2, bringing up the rear.

The tarmac buzzes with activity, even beyond the lingering crowd. Around them, more ships land, more passengers disembark, a steady stream of military personnel, civilian aids, politicians, and droids flowing into the ziggurat.

“This could be a good thing,” Cassian says, voice still low and next to her ear. “They won’t want to make a scene.”

Jyn isn’t so sure. A big scene involving an Imperial weapons scientist could be exactly what they want.

She turns her attention directly ahead. Mon Mothma waits at the front, ever ethereal in her draped white robes, somehow suffering through the heat and still managing to look regal. Two steps behind her and to the side, Draven looks the opposite: a deep scowl cuts his face beneath a sweating brow and rust-colored hair, and he crosses his arms. All around them, military personnel, guards, and Mothma’s aids watch and wait.

“Welcome back,” Mothma says, her voice like a light breeze brushing through the humidity.

“Thank you,” Lyra answers.

Jyn finds herself scanning the crowd for any face she might recognize, but no one is there. Not Saw, not Melshi, not Kes. A trickle of sweat drips down her neck as she and Cassian stop behind her mother.

“And welcome, Galen Erso.”

Jyn looks over her shoulder at her father. He and Bodhi cluster together, both still wearing their Imperial uniforms, looking almost like prisoners.

“I’m afraid you won’t have time to get settled,” Mothma continues. “The Alliance council will convene shortly, and we’re anticipating your testimony.”

Galen hesitates. Though her words might imply he has a choice, her tone leaves no question.  Then he bows his head slightly. “If that is your wish,” he says, “I would be honored.”

“Thank you,” Mothma says. “General Draven’s team will escort you. I will see you all inside.”

She eyes Draven at the last sentence, before turning to walk back to the hangar. As Jyn watches her go, she spots the faces of others, staring at both Mothma and the crowd she’s left behind.

Yes, a scene is definitely what Mothma wanted.

#

Inside the briefing room, the temperature feels cooler, but as Jyn searches the faces of the crowd, she wonders how short a fuse it would take to ignite its temper.

Among the gathering that comprises the rebellions’ top echelon, she finds the widest array of people she’s ever seen cramped in one place: stiff, uniformed generals and admirals; sour-eyed, armored guerillas; and even smooth, finely garbed politicians.

How could such people ever agree?

The crowd is too thick for her to find any of the people she’s been looking for since they landed (Kes, Melshi, Saw). Bodhi, Chirrut, and Baze had been hustled off somewhere for questioning, but Draven’s team escorted the rest of them here. And then separated them.

Presumably, her father was led somewhere up front. Her mother would find her place near Mothma’s side. She has no idea where Cassian ended up.

One of Draven’s guards still lingers behind her, keeping an eye on her, making sure she doesn’t slip away.

Mothma steps up to the holoprojector, and the murmurs fade. Sure enough, Jyn spots her mother lurking in the shadows nearby.

“I want to thank you all for coming on short notice,” Mothma begins. As she speaks, Jyn continues to search the crowd. She can’t stop herself. Saw _has_ to be here. She can’t believe otherwise.

“The evidence we will present is not speculative,” Mothma continues. “You will hear testimony from both trusted rebel operatives and new-found allies. If you doubt their word, remember that all of them are marked for death by the Empire.”

Now the murmurs resume. A few people over to her right, Jyn hears someone grumble, “...captured an Imperial officer…”

Mothma asks the crowd to quiet, and as she continues with her speech, describing the terrible power of the Death Star in flowing rhetoric, a stunned silence settles over the room.

She thinks they will bring her father over now, and she cranes her neck to see him, but instead it is Draven who comes forward. His brief is straightforward, with none of the drama of Mothma’s words. He leads the crowd through the unraveling of their discovery, what they know, and how they figured it out. He talks about the defecting cargo pilot, Bodhi Rook, and the message he carried from Galen Erso. Perhaps his speech serves as a way to set the foundation of credibility, perhaps as a warm up before unveiling a top level Imperial weapons scientist.

She fidgets, rocking on her heels. This is taking too long. She isn’t sure the crowd can stand here through all this. Couldn’t they have found more seats? But when she looks around, the military officers seem more enraptured than perturbed, and maybe this decision makes sense. Draven is a man they trust.

They won’t want to trust her father.

She’s just starting to tune Draven out when he says, “To speak more about the Death Star’s operational capabilities—Saw Gerrera.”

A section of the crowd turns inward, and there he is. She tiptoes to see him better, bracing herself on her neighbor and ignoring his frown.

Saw looks every bit how she left him, still held together by makeshift armor, a collection and display of all the scars the rebellion has wrought and borne. Except something is different in his expression. How many Partisans made it out? Did he witness the attack?

The crowd around him parts, and he lumbers to the front. Though it takes a few moments, no one dares murmur, out of fear or respect or maybe both, and the silence is punctuated only by the heavy footsteps of his cybernetic leg.

Jyn keeps her eyes trained on Saw as he walks, as if he’d vanish if she didn’t, and by the time he reaches the holoprojector, Draven has already faded into the shadows.

“Jedha City,” Saw says, and she thinks the whole room leans forward to hear him. “The Empire is saying it was a mining accident.”

Some of the senators near Jyn nod.

“Could a mining accident destroy an entire city?” He stands still, staring out at the crowd, his hand clutching his staff in front of him. “Could a mining accident reduce an entire hemisphere to dust and rubble? Could a mining accident cause an explosion that stretches miles into space?”

He pauses and looks around, connecting with individual faces, as if he could pass along his message with his eyes alone.

_“This_ is what happened,” he says, emphasizing his words with a shake off his staff. “The Empire evacuated their forces. TIE fighters, cargo ships, even the Star Destroyer—all of them left. Then it appeared, a shadow in the sky, blocking the sun. A green light flashed. The city erupted, a heap of rock and fire. The ground peeled away. A cloud of dust and smoke consumed everything.”

He pauses, takes a deep breath from his mask, closes his eyes. When he opens them again, they burn with wildfire.

“From space, we could see it! The _Death Star_ , the size of a small moon. The explosion stretched so far into space it almost reached the weapon. And all that was left of Jedha City was debris.”

“I don’t understand,” yells a red-shirted senator. “If you saw this happen, how are you standing here?”

Jyn clenches her fist.

Saw fixes his wild gaze on the senator, and some of the people standing near him shift away.

“Galen Erso,” Saw says. “I saw his message. When the Empire began their evacuations, I knew it could mean only one thing. We barely escaped.”

It’s more measured of a response than anyone expected, and Jyn sees the shoulders around her relax.

He takes another breath from his mask, as though remaining calm is an effort for him.

“They destroyed an entire city with one shot,” he declares, sliding the mask back into place with a sharp tug. “This is only the beginning. This weapon will destroy entire planets. They will not stop until they destroy us all! We cannot let that happen. We must stop it. We must destroy it. We must fight!”

More silence follows, thick and heavy like the humidity outside. Saw steps aside, but doesn’t go far. Jyn lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Cassian appears.

“It _can_ be destroyed,” he starts, like a salve of hope. It does little to relieve the crowd. He plows on. “Galen’s message explained this: there is a flaw in the system, a weakness. One shot, and the whole thing goes down. Knowing his testimony would be invaluable, we decided to extract him. Rook indicated Galen’s location on Eadu.”

“Extract him?” someone shouts. “If he built this weapon, he should answer for it!”

Did her father hear that? She still hasn’t spotted him in the room. What if they won’t let him speak after all?

“What if it’s a trap?” another voice adds. “What if he’s a spy?”

Cassian puts up a hand. “We asked the same questions in Intelligence.” Jyn shivers, remembering the cold chill on Eadu as Cassian said, “ _He wants me to kill your father_.”

She can’t exactly blame him for lying now. Admitting that Draven had contradicted Mothma’s orders in front of the entire council would cause bigger problems, would prevent them from focusing on the most important issue.

Still, when she looks at Draven, now hovering behind Cassian, she can’t quell the glare she sends him. Draven’s own expression remains blank.

She really is tired of spies.

“I have been with the rebellion since I was six years old,” he says, but this time, it’s stated simply, like a fact, with none of the emotion of that night after Horuz. “I have worked in Intelligence for more than ten years. I can tell you, based on experience, that Galen Erso is not a spy.”

“You couldn’t have known that from his message,” shouts the first voice. If he was anywhere near her, Jyn would find a way to shut him up.

Cassian doesn’t even look in the direction of the voice. “The Erso family has served the rebellion for almost fifteen years. Lyra Erso works for Mon Mothma. Jyn Erso served with the Pathfinders Special Forces. These are people we’ve worked with every day. Some of you know them. You know they are two of the most devoted rebels in the entire Alliance. We owe many of our accomplishments to their time and effort. I cannot name everything they’ve done, but I have personally reviewed their files. I can tell you, the list is long.

“I trust them. So I trust Galen Erso.”

Someone next to Jyn snorts. Jyn barely notices; her thoughts have snagged on that reminder. _I have personally reviewed their files._ Something uncomfortable slithers in her gut.

Cassian continues, with a tone firm and quick, to broker no more time for interruptions or questions. He explains their mission in broad strokes, describing most vividly the final scene and the man in white.

“Orson Krennic is the Director of Advanced Weapons Research,” he explains. “He saw Galen Erso defect and tried to stop it. It is possible he died in the destruction of the facility, but we cannot take that risk. We must act quickly, before he discovers the flaw in the Death Star.

“What is this flaw, you must be wondering.”  Cassian steps to the side and gestures behind him. “To explain… Galen Erso.”

Now they bring out her father.

Her ears buzz as the crowd murmurs around her. Already no one seems to agree. “Imperial,” someone sneers two rows behind her. “Let’s hear him out,” says another.

She tries to focus on her father’s face.

He’d been so open during the flight over, so dazed, so shocked, so sad and happy at once. It had astonished her, to see so much pain so blatantly etched into the lines of her father’s face and the sag of his shoulders. This was the husk of a man who used to tuck her in at night and save her from imaginary monsters. ( _Whatever I do, I do it to protect you._ )

But thirteen years of secretly sabotaging the Empire’s most terrible weapon have taught him some of the same tricks that Cassian knows. Now, though still haggard and pale, Galen Erso squares his shoulders and dons a mask of calm, competent authority. Only as he steps forward does she catch the slightest tremble in his hands.

“I’ve placed a flaw within the system,” he starts. “So hidden, no one knows it’s there…”

He repeats what he had said in his message, but in more detail, until at last, everything is laid bare before the Alliance council.

The briefing ends.

The debate begins.

Already Jyn can hear the crowd whispering “lies” and “trap.”

One voice rings out over the rest.

“We must scatter our forces…” says a politician, garbed in an ivory-gold hood. Someone named Pamlo, she thinks. “...We have no recourse but to surrender.”

And that’s all it takes. The undercurrent of anxiety breaks through the dam of civility, and the room erupts in a flood of cries and yells, speeches that must have been prepared ahead of time and held back until now, and arguments both thought out and irrational. Twenty voices attempt to talk over each other, some in languages Jyn doesn’t even know. The Rebel Alliance, supposed to be a united front against the Empire, has turned in on itself.

“Are we really talking about disbanding something that we’ve worked so hard to create?”

“We can’t just give in!”

“We joined the Alliance, not a suicide pact!”

“We can bring it before the senate—let them decide.”

“The senate won’t believe it any more than we do—”

“This is a trap!”

In the commotion, she’s able to elbow her way to the front of the crowd, though not with a few shoves in return. When she emerges and grips the edge of the table, Saw sees her and catches her eye.

It doesn’t seem relevant now, but their last conversation springs to mind anyways. _Stop running, and you’ll find your way_.

She looks around, at the squabbling and infighting. Not even generals agree with each other. Someone criticizes Draven’s decision to blow up the base on Eadu, comparing the decision to Saw’s extremism. Draven doesn’t respond and Saw doesn’t flinch, just looks around the room with mild disappointment, and across the room, his eyes say to Jyn, “What did we expect?”

Jyn had expected better. She had hoped for better. She had thought, with her father’s testimony, that the council could be convinced that there was a way past this. But that didn’t even matter because half of the people in the room didn’t want to believe him and the half that did thought it wasn’t enough. They thought he hadn’t done enough.

As if to underscore that point, a woman in an orange flight suit scoffs. “We’d never be able to hit that kind of target, anyways. Not before their defenses would stop us. The weakness won’t help us.”

“But if he’s telling the truth, we need to do something,” someone else says.

“Bring it before the Senate,” someone repeats.

Another voice scoffs. “Are we seriously still talking about the Senate?”

“It’s too risky bringing Erso to Coruscant, if what he’s saying is true, the Empire will want him in custody…”

“The Senate has no power anyway…”

“Fight or flee, those are the only options…”

The argument comes full circle. Jyn resists a strong urge to bang her fists—or maybe her head—on the table.

Senator Pamlo speaks again. “If it’s true that it can be destroyed, what are the odds that we can even find it? What are the odds that our pilots can exploit the weakness? Against that kind of power, what chance do we have?”

Jyn looks between her father and Saw. She waits for one of them to say something, to explain, but no one answers the senator.

“What _chance_ do we have? The question is _What choice_?”

Her voice rings hollow in her ears. Who is she to give this speech? After everything she’s done in the last year, she has no right.

But no one else will do it.

“You want to run? Hide? Plead for mercy? Scatter your forces?” Her faces flushes, and she is glad she can’t see Cassian—he’s slinked back into the shadows. What would he think, as she spewed words she hadn’t followed herself? “You give in to an enemy this evil with _this much power_ and you condemn the galaxy to an eternity of submission. The Empire doesn’t care if you surrender. They built this weapon to use it. Would you leave behind the people we’ve been fighting for? They’re counting on us to protect them. Whether they agree with us, or support us, or even know we exist, we’re here because they need us.

“The time to fight is now.” She thinks of Chirrut and Baze and Bodhi, thinks of their faces as her father revealed the news about Jedha. About the people and friends and family they lost. “Every moment you waste is another step closer to the ashes of Jedha.”

“What is she proposing?” yells someone from the back.

“Let her speak!”

Again she opens her mouth, but doesn’t know what to say. She can barely contemplate the idea of her father speaking in front of the Senate. How could they protect him on Coruscant, of all places? Besides, if there was any organization more useless than the Alliance Council, it was the Senate.

No, instead they’d have to go after the Death Star themselves. But how can they find the Death Star? Even if they can destroy it, how do they locate it?

“We have the resources, don’t we? Track it. Assault it. Destroy it.” She’s no strategist, shouldn’t someone else jump in? But no one does. “We know it was last seen at Jedha. Maybe it’s still there. They have no reason to leave. It’s the size of a small _moon_ , it can’t be that hard to find.

“Put our best agents on it.” She’s thinking of Cassian, and something lodges in her throat for a brief second.

Then she turns to Admiral Raddus. “In the meantime, we need to get this data to our fleet. Train the pilots. Have them practice based on my father’s specs.”

Finally, she turns to face the whole room. “We can’t waste this opportunity. If you give up now, who do you protect? Yourselves? The Empire will still hunt us down, will still use the Death Star to destroy entire planets. They’ll wipe out entire civilizations. But if we rally our best troops, the whole rebel fleet if we have to, then there’s a hope we can destroy it.”

“You’re asking us to attack an Imperial installation based nothing but hope?”

“Rebellions are built on hope,” Jyn says, again thinking of Cassian. Where is he? She hasn't seen him since her father started speaking, hasn't heard him say anything. _I’m with you_ , he had said, but then he had gone quiet, disappeared.

“There is no hope,” a man in blue says. Jyn’s heart falls, and she hears whispers rising.

“This is suicide mission,” a general says. “It’s too great a risk. If the Death Star is real, our forces would be destroyed.”

Jyn’s fists clench at her side. _If?_

The mutters from earlier, “trap,” and “bait,” gain more force.

“The Death Star,” sneers the senator in a red shirt. “This is _nonsense_.”

What more proof did they need?

Would they really allow their fear to blind them?

She hears her own voice shouting above the din, before she even thinks of the words to say. “What reason would my father have to lie? What benefit would it bring him?”

Behind her back, she hears someone pretend to whisper, “...deserted the rebellion a year ago.”

“Everything he said could be bait.” Jyn’s glare whips around as fast as her shooting reflexes. So this is when Draven will finally weigh in. This is what he’s been waiting to say. “Knowingly or not,” he adds, glancing at Galen over his shoulder.

She follows his gaze, spots Cassian standing between Draven and her father. Galen barely moves, just turns his head slightly to face Draven. Otherwise, his expression remains passive.

“An attempt to reveal senators sympathetic to our cause,” Draven continues. “An attempt to lure our forces into a final battle. To destroy us once and for all.”

“That’s insane,” Jyn snaps, and some of the fury from Eadu returns. “After everything my family has done for the rebellion, you don’t trust us?”

“Jyn Erso,” someone cries, across the room. “Now I remember that name. She’s the Pathfinder that deserted the rebellion!”

Jyn opens her mouth to unleash—something, a barrage of counterattacks, but what she would have said, she doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter; Saw joins the fray.

“Jyn never abandoned the cause,” he says, and at the sound of his raised voice, the noise in the room lessens by half. “Jyn Erso is one of the best soldiers I’ve ever seen because she _believes_.”

Saw moves his head to stare down the rest of the room. “Perhaps she tired of your squabbling. No wonder we have so little to speak for. While we argue among ourselves, the Empire grows stronger. I brought my soldiers here for a reason. We’re here to fight!”

Behind him, Mothma flinches, but several other senators bristle at his words.

“I’ve known the Ersos almost two decades,” he says. “Anyone who questions their word, answers to me.”

“Draven! What do you think?” It’s another general.

Everyone quiets, everyone turns to hear Draven’s answer. Jyn deflates. This is the man they’re going to hinge their decision on: the man who wanted to kill her father.

“Do you trust him? Do you trust Galen Erso?”


	10. Yavin 4

Draven pauses. Everyone in the room waits.

This is exactly the sort of circumstance he had wanted to avoid. This is why he holds briefings before meetings. This is the type of decision a person can’t make on a whim.

He’d tried to explain that to Mon Mothma, just like he’d tried to warn her that sending Lyra Erso on a mission to locate her own husband was far too great a risk. He’s made several predictions lately that went unheeded and then came true, and time after time, no one listened.

And now here they are. Arguing over the fate of the rebellion, possibly even the galaxy. All of this could have been handled better if he’d been allowed to do his job properly.

He’s not really the type to be bitter or hold grudges, but this is the kind of reason that other men would use to justify the decision he’d made earlier. When no one listens to him, even though he’s the head of intelligence, he can’t help but decide that he knows better than most of the people in this room, that his judgments are justified, that waiting for authorization just results in missed opportunities. (That _isn’t_ the reason he authorized the strike team on Eadu, but. It could have been a reason, if he were a different sort of man.)

He’s keenly aware of several presences nearby: Jyn Erso, glaring across the table at him, the brief light of hope in her eyes practically extinguished. Captain Andor, standing to his left, suddenly quiet now that attention has turned their way, after spending the last several moments attempting to persuade him in hushed whispers. Finally, Mon Mothma, behind and to his right, who wants to bring Galen before the Senate, but more than that, simply wants the rebellion to remain united.

He does not trust Galen Erso.

It would take much more convincing than Captain Andor had time for. Than _Cassian_ had time for.

He’s known Cassian for most of his life. Since he was a child, really, barely even a teenager. Since a fire burned in his eyes and he wanted vengeance on the Empire for what they had done to his village, his family, his life.

Draven looks back at Jyn Erso. Her hope might be flickering, but the glare she sends him burns strong, and he does recognize that look after all.

He closes his eyes and pinches his nose.

He knows what he’s going to say and he knows what it’s going to mean and he knows that it’s the right move for the rebellion. It’s the only move for the rebellion, really, because what is happening is this: the Alliance council has put the fate of the rebellion on his shoulders.

He’s borne that responsibility for years already, of course. He is the one that protects the rebellion when it’s too distracted to keep itself safe. But right now they’re asking him to decide whether to put the rebellion to the test or put the rebellion to rest.

Yes, it’s the right decision, but after what needs to get done is done, he’s putting Andor on paperwork duty for at least a week.

#

The entire council waits, quiet, still, as if someone has put the world on pause. The longer Draven’s silence stretches, the more convinced Jyn is that he will say no.

She glances over at Saw, wonders again if maybe they can’t figure out a way to pull this off on their own. It would be crazy, yes, but that’s Saw’s expertise.

Her gaze shifts to her father. Shoulders slumped, defeat blatant on his features, he is as worn down as a man who carries the weight of a planet killer on his shoulders could be. _Oh, papa_ , she thinks. _You did what you could._

And finally she allows herself to look at Cassian. He’s hovering so close to Draven’s ear, like he’s been talking to him, and his eyes are fixed on Draven alone. She notices, in the dim light from the table, a gleam in his eye. And as the clock ticks, the corner of his mouth ticks up.

“I trust Captain Andor,” Draven says.

Jyn lets out a breath. She’s too shocked to even bother hiding it, and Cassian looks her way, smiling.

Her own small smile curls the corner of her lips, though she isn’t even sure why. Nothing has been resolved. Maybe it’s hope.

“The Death Star is a real threat,” he continues. “Our intelligence makes that clear.” He hesitates again. _Come on_ , Jyn thinks. _Just say it_. “Whatever we do, we must protect the rebellion.”

“Can we destroy it?” a general says.

“It’s a possibility,” he says slowly. “A more detailed briefing with military personnel is required for further analysis.”

“What if we don’t have to fight?” It’s a voice Jyn hasn’t heard yet. “What if there’s a chance at a peaceful solution?”

It seems to be a senator. Behind Draven, Mon Mothma looks for the speaker.

“If we bring Galen Erso before the Senate,” the voice continues, “we can force a vote. Force the Empire’s demilitarization and a peaceful transfer of power.”

Someone behind Jyn laughs. “That will never happen.”

“We have to try,” the senator says. “Even if the Empire won’t disarm the military, the revelation of this weapon could strengthen support for the Alliance. It will give us a greater chance if we must launch an attack.”

The crowd murmurs again. This is not the first time someone has suggested bringing her father before the Senate, but now something has shifted. Floating in the tension is a bubble of curiosity, of possibility, of hope.

“Perhaps…” a general behind her says.

“We’ll have to be careful,” another senator says. “We have to spread the word that it can be defeated without tipping our hand.”

“We’ll need spies in the Senate,” adds another voice.

“We’ll need an escort team to protect Erso,” says another voice, someone she recognizes in the chain of command above Melshi. Not his direct superior officer, maybe the next one up.

And suddenly the tumult of voices coalesces into discussions of how to sway the Senate, strategies for assaulting the Death Star, plans for meetings, volunteers of support.

A tentative schedule is agreed upon.

Galen will meet with the top strategists to provide an exhaustive report about the Death Star’s defense systems and the flaw he designed.

Admiral Raddus will use that intel to meet with his generals to plan training for an assault.

Draven will instruct his network of spies to keep tabs on the Death Star, starting in the Jedha system.

And Galen will testify before the Senate.

Draven is also put in charge of that mission, along with Mon Mothma.

It’s the last item that’s agreed upon before Mothma calls the meeting to a close.

Jyn should feel excited. The council agreed. The council will actually do something. But the optimistic smile inspired by Draven’s tentative support has faded. She feels drained.

Her father is going to Coruscant.

She stands in the spot she claimed by the table, still clutching the edge of it, as the crowd thins behind her. Up front, Draven and Cassian talk to her father, and she can tell he’s wavering on his feet— _he must be so tired_ , she thinks. He’s clinging to his Imperial mask, and even though she hasn’t seen him in fifteen years, she thinks she can tell how it’s slipping at the edges. Small, strained wrinkles near the corners of his eyes, a slight tick at the edge of his mouth.

Could she have said something to prevent his going? When the talk had shifted to something productive, she’d been too afraid to disturb the fragile, nebulous cooperation. It seemed the slightest word could have jostled the whole discussion back down its previous course.

But Coruscant?

“Hey,” says a voice behind her. “Jyn.”

She turns to face her mother, looking just as worn and weary as she feels.

“Mama,” Jyn says, her voice dry and scratchy. “He can’t…”

Her mother closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “It’s a necessary course of action.”

“But—”

“I know, Jyn.”

“Did you know they would—?”

“It’s been Mothma’s goal the entire time.”

Jyn looks away, back towards her father. She crosses her arms. “He’ll be arrested on sight, won’t he?”

“That’s why Draven’s going to arrange an escort.”

Now Jyn looks back at her mother, straight into her eyes. “I don’t trust him. If this is happening—I have to go with papa. I have to be on that team.”

Her mother nods, tired. “I’ll talk to Mothma. But Jyn… you’re going to have to meet Draven halfway.”

“What does that mean?”

“Play by his rules.”

Jyn huffs.

But her father’s voice echoes in her head once more: _Whatever I do, I do it to protect you_.

It’s her turn to make sacrifices.

If her father can suffer under Imperial authority for fifteen years, she can put up with Draven. Whatever is necessary to ensure her father comes back alive.

She drops her arms to her sides, leans back against the table.

“What happens now?”

“Food, I think,” her mother says, and just in time, Jyn’s stomach chimes in. Lyra lets out a soft laugh. “If our guards are okay with it.”

#

Despite her hunger, when Lyra tells her that Cassian and her father won’t be joining them because Draven wants to debrief them properly, Jyn finds her feet dragging. Papa looked so exhausted. No one had slept well on the flight back from Eadu, and after the mission to rescue papa, the news about Jedha, and the council meeting itself, Jyn is running on fumes. She can only imagine what papa must feel.

“They couldn’t even let him eat or sleep,” Jyn mutters.

“They’ll feed him,” Lyra says, softly enough that Jyn interprets this as a half-hearted attempt to defend a decision her mother doesn’t really agree with. She’s trying to put on a positive face. Jyn stuffs her hands in her pockets and doesn’t bother voicing the rest of her thoughts.

The mess is even more crowded than it had been a year ago, but she supposes that may have something to do with the visiting council members and their corresponding entourages. She’d prefer to grab her food and eat in her own quarters, but then she doesn’t _have_ quarters of her own, and that’s just another problem that she’s too tired to solve.

“You did good in there,” says a voice behind her. Someone claps a hand on her shoulder, and despite her fatigue, she whirls around to grab it, but the man ducks away, laughing. “Ever vigilant,” Wendlyn says.

They really did call everyone back to base. That must be a logistical nightmare for Draven. Staring at her former leader, she remembers just how much she opposed Dantooine and gathering so many rebels in one place. And now they’ve called everyone to Yavin 4, and it’s so many more people than they had back then. For once, she actually sympathizes with Draven. (She must be very tired.)

“Always knew you had it in you, Li,” he adds. “Or should I say Jyn?”

He glances over at her mother.

“And Lyra,” he smiles, something a little more sincere and less mocking. “Married to Galen Erso, Imperial weapons scientist. You could have told me.”

Really, Jyn’s already had too many reunions. She shifts on her feet and looks towards the food line.

Lyra and Wendlyn talk and she tunes them out. Too much is going on inside her head for her to manage idle chit-chat. Papa is going to _Coruscant_. She hasn’t been there since she was a child. It was, and still is, too dangerous. Too dangerous for Jyn Erso or any of her pseudonyms, let alone a top Imperial weapons scientist who built a flaw in the Empire’s most powerful, most expensive secret weapon and then defected. How long will it take them to find the flaw? How long will it take them to find Galen after he lands on Coruscant? How long will it be until they steal him away from her again, permanently this time?

“Excuse me,” Jyn says. “It’s been a long day.”

Wendlyn nods, disappointed, and she continues towards the food line. She just wants to shovel down a tray of whatever slop the cafeteria is serving today and curl up in Cassian’s arms and sleep until forever.

It takes a moment, but then she stops in her tracks. Realizes what she just thought. She hasn’t thought of him for a year—hasn’t allowed herself to think of him—and suddenly she’s in his presence for a couple days and all she can think of is _cuddling_ him?

She must be really, really tired.

She sighs and corrects herself: she just wants to eat and sleep. She’ll have to see the quartermaster and make sleeping arrangements. (If Draven hasn’t already, she thinks, glancing over her shoulder at the guard that’s still tailing her. She hasn’t bothered learning his name; it’s easier to pretend he isn’t there that way.)

She grabs a tray and starts heaping globs of random whatever onto it. She’s halfway through when another hand taps her on her shoulder, and she’s so _tired_ of people that she whirls around, an angry “What?” shooting from her mouth, before she sees who it is.

Melshi and Kes stare at her, grim and stern.

“Oh.” She swallows, but keeps her head high, looks them in the eye. Here are the last of the reunions she’d anticipated, the last of the people she owes an apology, and already she’s off on the wrong foot.

She clears her throat and sets her tray down on the counter. “Lieutenant. Kes.”

Her lips are dry, and out of the corner of her eye, she sees her mother approaching.

“I… want to apologize,” she continues. “For lying to you about who I was.” She blinks. “And for running away. And…”

Her voice breaks, and her vision blurs as her eyes water. She looks back and forth between Melshi and Kes and can read nothing in their faces.

Kes sticks out a hand. “Kes Dameron,” he says.

She looks up at him and sees the same boy she met four years ago, wearing a worn leather jacket and a winning smile. He cocks his head to the side.

“Jyn Erso,” she says, hesitantly.

“I know who you are,” he says. “I look forward to working with you.”

“Someone needs to keep this one in line,” Melshi adds, gesturing to Kes, and when she looks back at him, she sees his smile, too.

She laughs, and the tears flow over for entirely different reasons.

“Glad to have you back, Sergeant,” Kes says, clapping a hand on her her shoulder. It falls away as her mother arrives, draping her arm around Jyn and squeezing her in a half hug.

“Thanks for bringing her back, Lyra,” Kes says. It’s so odd to hear him use her mother’s real name. Odd, but good.

“I don’t think I can take the credit for that,” her mother says. She drops her arm. “Jyn’s back on her own accord.”

Kes smiles, but otherwise says nothing, for which Jyn is grateful.

“Saw Gerrera?” Melshi says, his grin shifting to something wry and lopsided. “We weren’t hardcore enough for you, eh?”

Jyn shrugs. “I guess we’ll find out.” She nods towards the doors, towards the direction of the meeting rooms. “Let’s see if the Alliance actually goes through with this.”

“They will,” Lyra says. She looks at Melshi. “General Draven and Mon Mothma are considering the Pathfinders for Galen’s escort team. Not the whole squad, just a select crew. He’s going to set up a meeting.”

“Oh, good,” Melshi says, “I was hoping I’d get to sit around listening to Draven drone on forever.”

#

Somehow, Jyn succeeds at finishing her dinner without falling asleep in it, something she considers to be a top achievement for the day.

Somehow, her mother convinces her to take a tray of food to Cassian’s quarters, even though she’d asserted earlier that Draven would feed them.

Somehow, she navigates her way through the base, to a door she’s maybe sixty percent sure is Cassian’s, assuming he didn’t move, which is possible.

(She does not succeed at losing her guard.)

Her hand is raised, poised to knock, and she’s been stuck in that position for maybe ten seconds when she hears a voice down the hall.

“Jyn?”

There he is, looking like hell and no worse than how she feels, bags under his eyes, hair tousled, sticking up, mouth set in a deep frown. She thinks, maybe, it lifts a little when he sees her.

“What are you doing?” he asks, pausing one door down. He leans against the door frame.

“I brought dinner?” she says, hating that it sounds like a question, hating how stupid of an idea it seems. How did she let her mother persuade her? This is what happens when you haven’t properly slept in a couple days: poor decision making.

A tired smirk slowly climbs his cheek. “For Captain Pusha?”

She looks up at the door in front of her, looks back at him and the door he leans next to, and sighs.

“No. For you,” she says. She shakes her head. This is all so stupid. She just wants to sleep.

“Thank you,” he says. He stares at her for a moment before punching in the code to his room. The door slides open.

“So, here you go,” she says, holding out the tray.

He takes it and steps inside. She lingers in the doorway.

“You coming?” he asks over his shoulder.

The guard clears his throat behind her.

“Umm,” she says, glancing back.

He turns and peers out the door, spotting the guard.

“I’m not to let her out of sight,” the guard mutters, staring at the floor.

Cassian rolls his eyes. “Go ahead and call Draven,” he says. Then he glances back at Jyn. “Unless…”

She shrugs, then nods to the guard. She probably would have fled by now, if she’d had a place to go. But it’s late, and base is crowded, and she’s not exactly sure the quartermaster will have anything good available.

The guard frowns at them for a full five seconds, before pulling out his commlink. She can’t exactly hear Draven’s words on the other end, but she _can_ make out a tone of tired frustration and resignation. When she glances at Cassian, he smirks and lifts up one shoulder in a half shrug.

“Draven says it’s fine,” the guard mutters. “And Captain Andor is responsible for you.”

She flinches a little at that, but probably not for the reason the guard thinks.

“I’ll be outside. My shift ends at oh three hundred so if you leave after that, there’ll be someone new.”

Jyn is barely listening. She’s already following Cassian inside.

The room looks just how it does in her memories, the ones that had been locked up in her cave until a few days ago. The same bed where she’d told him her name. The same floor where she’d paced, trying to decide what to do, how to explain. The same doorway, where she’d stood and insisted that _trust goes both ways_ , and then she had betrayed him.

He sets the tray down on the table next to his bed, then turns back to her, eyebrows raised.

“You okay?” he asks.

No, she wants to say. In very many ways, she is not okay. Papa is going to Coruscant. Papa has just been interrogated by General Draven, probably hasn’t eaten yet, might even still be in the debrief. Papa must have heard what that rebel had said in the meeting—she _deserted_ the Pathfinders—and she’s had no chance to explain and doesn’t even know how she would.

And then there’s the fact that Cassian has read her entire file, when he did his background check on her, a fact he admitted several hours ago in the meeting room and also a year ago in this very room.

He’d apologized, maybe not for that specifically, but probably for everything. It didn’t change the fact that he knew a great deal more about her than she knew about him. Even though they’ve known each other for four years now, even though they’ve slept together, even though he is the first person she’s told her real name after years of aliases, she still feels this gap between them.

She doesn’t _want_ there to be a gap.

“Jyn,” he says again. He clears his throat. “You are welcome to stay, if you want.” He watches her with an uncertain gaze she knows mirrors her own. “But I won’t be offended if you’d rather not.”

He looks away at the end of his sentence, and something about the tone of his voice urges her to shut the the door behind her. At the sound of the whoosh, he looks up, eyes hazy with dreams and hope.

“I’d just like to sleep,” she says.

He nods. “Me, too.”

Ten minutes later, she slides into bed, wearing a spare t-shirt and shorts he lent her, since she left her pack on the ship. He’s sitting at a small desk, more of a surface that juts out from the wall, and eating the food she brought. She wonders if it would be rude if she just laid down and went to sleep.

“How’s papa?” she finally asks.

He takes his time answering, finishes his bite. “He was still there when I left.” He looks up. “They’ll probably keep him awhile. But they’ll feed him.”

“He needs to rest,” she says, surprising herself with the force of her voice.

“Mothma is there, too,” he says. “She’ll take care of him.”

Jyn nods, and leans her head against the wall. Her eyelids droop, and the next thing she knows, Cassian is saying her name. Like cobwebs, fragments of a dream linger in her mind’s eye: images of her father, bent and broken on the tarmac on Eadu… she shakes her head and looks up.

Cassian perches on the edge of the bed. “You’ll hurt your neck like that.”

He shuffles the blanket and pillow as she lays down properly.

“Is it okay if…” he says. “Would you want me to…?”

She stares at him, then tugs his wrist to say _join me_. He slides in next to her, and for all the intimacy they’ve shared in the past, this feels strangely new. He keeps a proper distance, and she lets out a tired huff before snuggling closer, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

Somewhere far at the back of her mind, it occurs to her that some things are left unresolved between them. Yet despite everything, despite how little time they’ve spent together, despite the words they’ve said to each other, she missed him.

The tumult of her thoughts subsides, and she begins to drift.

“You did really well at the meeting,” Cassian murmurs. “Your father was proud of you.”

She’s too tired and too overwhelmed to respond, so she finds his hand. She laces their fingers together, and squeezes, and holds on until morning.

#

Galen wakes on a stiff mattress, staring at a duracrete floor. No windows, no rain. No lush blankets, or thick carpet, or soft lighting that gradually brightens to wake him gently. None of the usual technology that has surrounded him for the past fifteen years, none of the luxuries Krennic had seen to in order to convince him of the Empire’s gratitude.

His first thought is: the Empire discovered his betrayal, they arrested him, they interrogated him. He is in prison.

But no, that’s not quite right.

He’s been in prison before and the rebel headquarters isn’t _that_ bereft of basic comfort.

Someone shifts in bed behind him and slides a hand around his waist and nuzzles against the back of his neck.

_Lyra_.

It takes his breath away again, to remember it, and he rolls over to face her, to confirm she’s real and that it wasn’t all just a dream.

Stars, but she’s beautiful.

She opens her eyes and smiles.

“Good morning.”

He really doesn’t deserve this gift, this second chance, this extra time. He had resigned himself years ago to his fate. For the terror he’s created and the havoc it will inevitably wreak on the galaxy, it isn’t fair that the universe has granted him this happiness.

And so for as long as he’s around to appreciate it, he will do whatever he can to atone for his sins.

“Good morning,” he responds. He brings his hand up to touch her face, tuck her hair behind her ear, and she leans in and kisses him.

Oh, he owes the galaxy so much.

When she pulls away, he sighs. “What time is it?”

“Still early,” she yawns.

“I have to go back to meet with Draven at oh eight hundred.”

She nods and closes her eyes again. “Breakfast?”

#

The mess is moderately crowded, for it being so early, but he supposes for such a small force relative to the Empire, there’s little time for sleep.

He scans the room for Jyn, not really expecting to find her and finding her anyways. She’s seated in the far corner, deep in conversation with Cassian, their heads leaning so close together they almost touch.

She looks up and catches him staring and the smile she gives him sings of her nickname. She’s up and halfway across the room in a blink.

“Slow down, stardust,” he says, like they’re still back on their farm on Lah’mu and she’s racing out of the house to go play in the fields. She hugs him, and again he promises the universe that he will do whatever it asks of him to be worthy of this love.

“Are you alright?” she asks, stepping back and looking him over. He’s not afraid to smile back at her, now that he wears civilian clothes. His Imperial uniform might as well be trash (he knows they probably kept it for disguise purposes, but allows himself to pretend otherwise), and while its disappearance doesn’t remove the burden of his guilt, it eases it, just a little.

“They didn’t hurt you, did they?” She peers at him closer.

“Jyn,” her mother says, sounding exasperated.

“I’m fine,” he says. “I’m due back in an hour and a half.”

“More interrogation?” she asks, frowning.

“More _briefing_ ,” her mother corrects.

“There’s a lot of information to cover,” Galen says quietly.

“Hm.” Jyn glances up at him. “You’re still going to Coruscant.”

“I will do whatever is asked of me.” He catches the hope behind her eyes. He is sorry to disappoint it, but then he has many things to be sorry for. “Whatever I need to do to make things right.”

She takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

#

He has breakfast with his family. He’s dreamt of moments such as this, of the simple joy of their company, of shared meals and idle conversation, but it doesn’t happen the way he imagined.

By the time he joins them at the table, Jyn has gone silent. She eyes him, uncertain, and pushes her food around on her tray. No one else speaks, but what is there to say? The Death Star, the past, the future, hang between them.

Still, he’ll settle for companionable silence as longs as they’re with him.

He’s halfway done eating when Bodhi joins them, looking better rested, but still wearing his Imperial uniform. When Jyn asks about it, he mumbles something about it being a reminder that he volunteered to be here. Perhaps it’s an admirable thought, but Galen worries he’ll only get trouble for it later.

Chirrut and Baze follow shortly thereafter, and with the Guardians around, conversation picks up. Galen listens to the banter between the two of them, and their ease around each other reminds him just a little of what he and Lyra used to be like, back on Lah’mu.

He wonders how long it will take to get that back.

For all their joy and affection towards each other, fifteen years has wrought many changes. They can’t just pick up where they left off, can they? How much has changed?

Two more approach their table, and now the table is too crowded for introspection. Jyn introduces a man named Kes and his wife, Shara.

“Kes serves on the Pathfinders SpecForce,” Jyn says, and her eyes dart to Galen just briefly when she says it, like maybe he would recognize the name.

“Pathfinders, I’ve heard of them,” he says. “Is that what you—”

“She’s our sergeant,” Kes says, and Jyn’s face goes red. She stares at Kes, and Galen cannot fathom why she’d be embarrassed by something like that.

“Shara flies with the Alliance Fleet,” Jyn says.

Shara smiles. “Nice to meet you.”

He never expected to be welcomed like this here, even if it's just a simple pleasantry. These two friends of Jyn’s seem earnest enough. He smiles back. But he won't delude himself that anyone else here will be this friendly.

“You’re a pilot?” Bodhi asks. He’s barely spoken since he sat down.

“Best there is,” Kes says, grinning.

Shara rolls her eyes. “And you’re not biased at all.”

“What do you fly?” Bodhi asks.

“RZ-1 A-wing interceptor,” she says. She eyes his Imperial uniform and Galen tenses. “You’re the pilot that defected, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Bodhi says, and his eyes dance between Shara and his tray. “I was just a cargo pilot, though. I don’t—I never saw any combat. I never—well, I’m here because of Galen.”

“Are you going to fly for the rebellion?”

“Am I...?” He blinks. “Of course, wherever I’d be useful. I can fly shuttles, cargo, transports…”

“What about X-Wings? Y-Wings? A-Wings?”

His eyes bulge. “Well, I don’t—I mean, I didn’t score high enough at the Academy to…”

Shara scoffs. “What do they know, anyways?” She smiles. “We’ve got our own evaluation. What are your plans after this? I’m free this morning, let’s take a spin in the simulator. We’ll see how good you are. Although honestly, sometimes I think they’d take any farm boy from a backwater planet as long as he could shoot and fly straight.”

Bodhi just stares at her in wonder. “I… I guess. If you don’t mind.”

Shara digs a little deeper into Bodhi’s background, and as the talk gets more technical, the rest of the table breaks out into separate conversations. Cassian and Lyra discuss Mon Mothma and developments in the Senate. Kes tells Chirrut and Baze about his work with the Pathfinders.

To think, he last ate breakfast on Eadu—a quiet, stilted breakfast between colleagues, chatting about the work that would be done for the day. Now he sits between his wife and his daughter, at a table among friends, catching up and swapping stories.

Kes’ stories about the Pathfinders shifts to Jyn. Before she can stop him, he’s describing a mission she led on Horuz. The entire time, Jyn remains quiet, staring at her empty tray.

He’s amazed: she’s a leader in the rebellion, she rescued an agent from _Horuz_ , of all places, and then she modified the mission on the spot to sneak into the facility and steal information. He almost wishes he didn’t know the story; knowing her work for the rebellion will only inspire anxiety in the future. And just when he thinks she couldn’t have put herself in more danger, Kes continues.

“She came back for me,” he says. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her.”

Again, he feels that swirl of pride and regret: his daughter is selfless, but also reckless.

“So Galen,” Kes says, as he finishes. “Was she always that…”

“Headstrong?” Cassian offers.

Galen grimaces, but Lyra smiles.

“Hey,” Jyn says, frowning at her mother. “I was a good kid. I did what I was told.”

“Eventually,” Lyra says.

Cassian actually laughs, and the look he gives Jyn is fond.

“How did you two meet?” Galen asks, eager to change the subject.

Jyn raises her eyebrows in surprise, then quickly looks back at Cassian. “We just ran into each other around base.”

“Really?” Kes smirks. “It wasn’t at the base celebration on Dantooine?”

Jyn turns to glare at him, but before she can say anything, Cassian jumps in.

“No. We already knew each other by then. We met in the hangar on Dantooine.”

Jyn shifts uncomfortably.

“So you just randomly bumped into each other?”

“Yep.”

Something is off. Something Jyn doesn’t want to be said, something she’s ashamed of. He’s about to change the subject, to offer a story of how he met Lyra, but then someone else interrupts.

#

Jyn has never spoken to Princess Leia before. She can count the number of time she’s ever seen her around on one hand, and every one of those times, she’d lingered in the vicinity of Mon Mothma.

So it should come as no surprise that her mother is familiar with her.

“Lyra. Captain Andor.”

“Your highness.” Lyra nods by way of greeting. “How can we be of service?”

Leia glances at Galen, Jyn, and the rest of the table before she speaks again.

“I wanted to thank your team for all you’ve done,” she says. “The rebellion is forever in your debt.”

“I appreciate your gratitude,” Lyra says. “But I’m afraid we’ve done little compared to the work that lays ahead.”

“You brought us hope,” Leia says, and a smile graces her features. “That means everything.”

Chirrut clears his throat.

“My apologies,” Lyra says. “I don’t believe you’ve been introduced to everyone. This is my daughter, Jyn. Chirrut Îmwe, Guardian of the Whills, and his partner, Baze Malbus. Kes Dameron and his wife, Shara Bey. Bodhi Rook. And my husband, Galen.”

Leia’s eyes follow Lyra’s introductions as she goes around the table. She’s almost as guarded as Cassian, Jyn notices, and betrays no reaction as Lyra names everyone. Even when she names Bodhi and Galen.

“Everyone,” Lyra finishes. “This is Senator Leia Organa, her royal highness, princess of Alderaan.”

“You have a question for me, your highness?” Chirrut says, before anyone else can say anything.

Leia’s polite smile shifts into a smirk. “I heard there was a Jedi on base.”

“He’s no Jedi,” Baze says, scoffing.

“The Empire hunted down all the Jedi,” Bodhi blurts out.

Leia’s smirk never falters. She stays focused on Chirrut. “You’ve certainly curated a bit of reputation, for someone who’s not a Jedi.”

Chirrut shrugs. “It’s my alluring air of mystery.”

Baze shakes his head and mutters under his breath.

“I heard you bested some of our special forces in martial combat this morning.”

Chirrut grins. “News travels fast around here.”

“When did you go to the gym?” Baze asks, with all the exasperation of someone who doesn’t really want to know the answer.

“Not all of us sleep the day away,” Chirrut answers.

“It’s only seven thirty,” Baze says. “And you meditate for hours.”

Leia arches an eyebrow at this. “You meditate, you excel at martial arts…”

“I just have good reflexes.”

“...and you seem to read minds,” Leia finishes, ignoring the interruption. “But you’re not a Jedi.”

“You don’t have to be a Jedi to know the Force. It surrounds all of us. You just have to trust it.” He pauses, seems as though he’s about to add something. But then he doesn’t.

“Either way,” Leia says, unperturbed, “I have a mission that might interest you.”

Chirrut stares at her, his head cocked to the side.

“Eh. I’m fine.”

Now Baze elbows him. “She’s a princess.” He mutters something else in Jedhan. Jyn bites her lip and looks back at Leia.

“You don’t even want to hear it?”

“Baze and I are committed to serving the Ersos,” Chirrut declares, and Jyn whips her head back to look at him. “But thank you for the offer.”

“Chirrut,” Jyn sputters. “You ought to hear her out.”

Chirrut sighs. “If you want.”

Leia hesitates, eying the rest of the table.

“Anything you would say to me,” Chirrut says, “you can say in front of all of us.”

When Leia looks at Cassian, he gives a small nod.

“I’m on a mission to retrieve a friend of my father’s, who served in the Clone Wars. I think he would be of some interest to you, Master Îmwe.”

“He is another Force user,” Chirrut explains. He is quiet for a moment, staring at the princess. “The answer is still no. Your highness.”

Leia sighs. “Well, I tried. I was hoping you’d be able to help me look for him.”

Chirrut’s silence stretches even longer this time. “I’m sorry I cannot help you this time,” he finally says. He nods at Jyn. “But my service is needed elsewhere. Perhaps in the future.”

“Any ideas on how I could find him?”

Chirrut snorts. “I’m not psychic. But if your friend is what you say, he’ll probably be hard to find. Probably somewhere remote. Probably will use a different name.”

“This is quite helpful,” she says wryly.

Chirrut grins. “You want real advice? Trust your instincts. They’ll serve you well.”

“Thanks.”

Jyn is still watching Chirrut, surprised, when Leia speaks to her. “You certainly seem to have quite the effect on people.”

The princess’ smile is kind, if somewhat disappointed.

“Take care of them,” Leia says. She turns to Lyra and Cassian. “Good to see you.”

And then she turns and walks away.

“Chirrut,” Jyn says, the second Leia is out of earshot. “Are you crazy?”

“Yes,” Baze answers.

“You should help her!”

“She’ll be fine. You’ll need my help on Coruscant.”

“Draven’s not going to let you go to Coruscant—I don’t even know if he’ll let _me_ go to Coruscant.”

Cassian clears his throat. “Speaking of which, you should go see him. Like we talked about.”

Jyn sighs.

“Come on, Jyn,” Galen says, standing. “I’m heading that way anyways. We’re in this together, right?”

She sets her jaw and looks up at her father.

#

Davits Draven is a busy man. Between overseeing interrogations (the defector pilot, the two Guardians, Cassian, Galen Erso, and a handful of Partisans) and meeting with members of the council (mainly Mothma, Admiral Raddus, and an assortment of generals), he can’t remember the last time he slept.

And then Jyn Erso shows up with her father. Volunteering for her own interrogation.

It’s just as well, he’d have required it eventually, it was on his list, and the only reason he hadn’t insisted on it yet was because there were so many other people to talk to.

He rubs his face and sighs. He’s got to finish the debrief on the Death Star, first. He’s got to get that information in the hands of the generals.

Besides, if Erso is coming to him like this, she probably wants something in return.

“Why?” he asks.

“I want to join my father’s escort,” she says, determined, confident. She’s got nerve, that’s for sure.

He sighs. He can’t let her participate in that mission. Mothma is already insisting that Lyra go along as her representative. It doesn’t make sense to put a whole family on one mission.

But he’s too tired to argue with Jyn Erso right now. And he still wants that interview.

“Report back at eighteen hundred.”

Ten hours. That should give him time to finish his talk with Galen, draft a report for the generals, and maybe get a nap somewhere in between. He wants to be rested before they talk.

She nods. “Thank you, sir.”

#

Technically, Jyn is no longer considered an official recruit of the rebellion. Not since she deserted. And she won’t be until Draven clears her. So she can’t seek out the Pathfinders and train with them, and the quartermaster will only give her a bed in a barrack reserved for guests.

So she has a day to waste. A day to wait around wondering what questions Draven might ask her. A day wandering aimlessly as Draven’s guard follows her—a different one, but she’s still trying to ignore him.

She goes for a run first, acquainting herself with the temple grounds that she barely spent any time on before she left. The heat presses down on her, and by the time she returns to the main temple, the guard panting behind her, she’s drenched in sweat. She towels most of it off and heads to the gym.

She spends the rest of the morning training, sparring, working out. Her thoughts disappear as she focuses on the movements: punches, kicks, evasions, leg sweeps, headlocks. She focuses on the face of her opponents, staying one step ahead of them, besting them.

At lunch, Kes joins her and tells her that Melshi will allow her to join them for drills. She’s tempted. She almost says yes. But she remembers what her mother told her—play by Draven’s rules—so she asks him if Draven cleared it. No. She declines.

With nothing else to do, she spends an hour meditating with Chirrut. He tries to teach her to relax, but she can tell her tension distracts him from his own meditation, so she leaves.

She decides to head to the hangar. Navigating her way through ships, pilots, worker droids, she attempts to ignore pointed stares. What do they want? Do they recognize her? What do they recognize her for?

At the stolen Imperial ship, she spots Bodhi. He sits on a crate next to the ramp, staring out into the jungle, and the expression on his face mirrors her own dark thoughts. She steps next to him, leans against the ramp actuator, and asks how the flight simulation went. She expects him to say it didn’t go well, but he says it did. He says he can join the Fleet, if he wants. But he’s also got an offer from Mothma, to fly the shuttle to Coruscant. And he’s not sure what he wants to do.

She takes a seat next to him and they sit in silence, staring out into the jungle, listening to the hoots and cries of animals in front of them. The generic sounds of the hangar echo behind them: chatter, shouted directions, rearrangement of ships and cargo, droids beeping and buzzing, the clanks and clatter of repair.

Bodhi eventually leaves to talk to Shara, and Jyn is left alone, staring at the sunset.

That is where Cassian finds her.

“Jyn.”

She turns and looks up at him, at the glow of sunset on his face. He still looks tired.

“Do you need this crate?” she asks, with humor she doesn’t really feel. His face softens slightly and he sits down next to her.

“Draven is ready for you.”

Her brow furrows. “Already? It’s not even—”

Cassian shrugs. “He said he’s ready now.”

She sighs. He’s close enough that their shoulders touch, and she leans into him just slightly, not enough to be overt, if anyone’s watching.

“He’s not what you think,” Cassian says after a moment. “He just wants to protect the rebellion.”

“He wanted to kill my father.”

“He wanted to eliminate a threat to the rebellion and to the galaxy.”

Jyn turns away, to look back at the jungle. She can’t argue that her father wasn’t a _potential_ threat. But he’s still her father.

“Do you remember,” Cassian says, “what you said to me the first day we met?”

What she remembers from that day is this: her plans to run away, making a fool of herself, Cassian’s patiently suppressed frustration towards her. It’s why she’d been so hesitant when her father asked about how they met. She shakes her head.

“You said, ‘I’m here to fight the Empire.’”

She stares up at him, unsure. Everyone is here to fight the Empire. “So? What’s special about that?”

“The way you said it.” He stares at her, with that same look from this morning. The kind of look she sees between her parents, between Kes and Shara, between Baze and Chirrut. He continues, “And later, at the party. You said, ‘I’ve been fighting this rebellion more than half my life.’ With fire in your eyes. I’ve see it every time I’m with you. When you returned from a mission. When we were on Horuz. Even when you left. You said, ‘Everything I do is to protect people who are exploited by the Empire.’” He takes a deep breath. “Jyn, I’ve never seen anyone else who cared about the cause as much as you do.”

He’s leaning close now, maybe a little too close for how public a setting this is, but that hardly registers to her now, anyways. As far as she’s aware, it’s just the two of them, just like that night they met. Except now, his gaze is intense, it’s more than it was before, a look she’s never seen on his face, a look she’s never seen directed her way. She freezes in that gaze, everything freezes, her thoughts, her breath, her heart. She wants to look away from it, but she can’t.

This is the kind of feeling that made her want to run before.

Maybe he notices her panic, because he turns away.

“Just be honest,” he says. “And Draven will see it, too. He’ll trust you.”

#

It starts simple.

“Please state your name, your age, your birthday…” He asks for her birth planet, where she’s lived, the names of relatives, her schooling and education. Easy questions. Questions he already knows the answers to. Questions to gauge her. (At the back of her mind, it occurs to her that these are the easy answers she doesn’t know about Cassian.)

Then he asks, “How long have you known Saw Gerrera?”

She takes a deep breath. “I think I was five or six. He smuggled us out of Coruscant and took us to Lah’mu.”

“Did you know why?”

She eyes him, a little incredulously, because how would a five-year-old know that information. But she does know now; her mother told her. “Not at the time, obviously. My parents had realized what Krennic’s project was and had arranged our escape.”

“How long did you live on Lah’mu?”

“Three years, I guess.”

“What did your family do in that time?”

She closes her eyes as she thinks of Lah’mu. She’s spent so many years locking those memories away in the cave. Memories of tall, green grass and rich, black soil. Of choppy ocean waves lapping against rocks and mud. Of a cloudy sky and wet wind. She plays in the grass as papa fights with the farming equipment and she thinks only of happiness as she marches Stormy around in the mud.

She remembers other things, too. Remembers her father pretending to teach her a game, remembers knowing better and humoring him anyways. Remembers running through the grass and the hills to the cave with papa at her side. Remembers running without him.

“My father learned how to farm. My mother taught me, like I already told you. And we… practiced escape drills. In case the Empire ever found us.”

“What happened when they did?”

Reluctantly, she tells him. She tells him how mama called Saw. She tells him papa’s words, “Whatever I do, I do it to protect you.” She tells him how papa doesn’t follow the plan, and he leaves with Orson Krennic so that they can get away. So that they can be free. So that they can be happy.

Draven offers her a cloth to wipe her face. She refuses and uses the back of her gloves instead and stares away at the wall in silence for a few moments. She takes a deep breath. She absolutely hates that she’s already broken down like this, but what she’s thinking, as she explains what happened on Lah’mu, is that it’s about to happen all over again. Papa is going to Coruscant to testify in front of the Senate. And Draven isn’t sure he can be trusted or if she can be trusted. And Cassian’s words still echo in her head. Just be honest. Well, if Draven doesn’t believe her or her father now, he has less feeling than anyone leading the Empire.

She takes a deep breath.

Draven shifts the questioning to her work for Saw, and then the Klonoid cell, and then Wendlyn. He asks why they left, every time. Because mama didn’t like the work I was doing. Because our names caught up with us. Because there was a better opportunity.

He asks about her work with the Pathfinders, about specific missions, about intel she discovered. This is all documented, covered in reports she wrote and reports Melshi wrote. No doubt he’s read them. He’s trying to see if she slips up. She describes everything to the best of her abilities, but she can feel her patience draining. What feels like hours creep by. Time crawls. She struggles to rein in her frustration.

“How did you feel about the work you did?”

The question takes her by surprise, and she looks at him across the table. This is worse, she thinks, than Cassian knowing so much about her. This is Draven trying to open her up, like she’s a droid and he’s running diagnostics, trying to understand every piece of code that runs her. Her hands clench.

“What do you mean, how did I _feel_?” she hears herself ask, and if Cassian or her mother were there, they might cringe. She stands and paces on her side of the table. Out of the corner of her eye, she barely notices his eyebrows raise, his arms cross over his chest.

She can tell him facts, and she can even bear shedding silent tears as she states those facts, but she’s not going to confess any kind of feelings, like he’s some kind of therapist or whatever.

“It was work that needed to be done.” What does he want her to say? That she’s proud of it? That she’s ashamed? That sometimes she had trouble sleeping at night? That sometimes she worried she would never see her mama again, that her mother would read about her death, that her mother would have lost her family to the Empire?

“Have you ever sold secrets to the Empire?”

She halts in her pacing. The words are like punches to her gut. She spins on her heel to face him. The mere question, the mere accusation, lights her blood on fire and something inside her wants to reach out across the table and hit him.

He does not flinch under her gaze.

“I would never.” Her voice is quiet and cold; her heart pounds in her chest.

Silence beats against her ears. She drops back onto the chair.

“Where did you go when you left Yavin 4?”

If Jedha still existed, if Saw were not already here, she would not answer the next set of questions. But Saw’s hideout is gone, and half of his Partisans are gone, and she isn’t sure how this information could hurt Saw in the future. So she tells him.

“You tracked down Saw Gerrera in two months?”

He doesn’t believe her, she can read it on his face.

She shrugs.

“Completely on your own?”

“I didn’t have time to hack your files, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“You didn’t know where he was the whole time?”

“Of course not. I believed he left mama and me behind.” She leans back and mimics his own posture, arms crossed, glaring. “I didn’t care to keep in touch.”

“How did you find him?”

She tells him.

And for the first time during the entire interrogation, she allows herself to relax. She’s exhausted, anyways. Draven is hard to read, but she’s suspicious that he’s impressed. As well he should be; tracking down Saw ranks among her most challenging missions to date. Mostly because she did it alone.

“What work did you do for Saw?”

Defecting from the Alliance may be the worst decision she’s ever made. Or it might be choosing to go to Saw. Or it might be the crimes she committed with the Partisans.

But for all the bad she did in his name, she tries to tell herself that it would have been worse, if she hadn’t been there. She thinks, specifically, of Bor Gullet and Bodhi Rook.

“When did your father contact you?”

This is a trick question. Her father never contacted her specifically. She answers with the truth anyways. Bodhi’s message from Jedha.

“And before that, when was the last time you were in contact with your father?”

“Lah’mu.”

He looks her over.

“Have you told anyone the location of this base?”

“I was there when mama told Saw. That’s it.”

“When did you decide to leave Yavin 4?”

She closes her eyes. She’s too tired to talk about this, she’d barely been able to articulate it to Cassian, and now Draven wants to know. It’s probably the only thing he’s wanted to know, this whole time, this is the question he’s been building towards. All his other questions are just foundation and context for this answer.

“There were a lot of reasons I left,” she says slowly. “But it’s not because I didn’t believe in the cause.”

“That’s usually the reason people leave. Or else they’re scared.”

She watches him from the corner of her eye. He’s trying to bait her.

Well, it is the truth. Sort of.

He continues before she can say anything. “But that’s not what I asked.”

_When did you decide to leave?_

She’s not certain precisely when. She’s not sure if it was when she woke up next to Cassian and realized she’d told him her real name, or when he told her to turn herself in, or when she told him, “Trust goes both ways.”

She’s not even sure she’d really committed to the decision when she’d burst into her mother’s room and told her they had to pack. If Lyra had persuaded her, if she hadn’t told her about Saw, maybe she could have been convinced to stay. It’s too late to know now.

She sighs. “When mama told me the truth. Saw hadn’t left us behind, we had left him. That’s when I decided to go.”

“Is that true?”

“Yes.” She looks away. “I started thinking about it earlier than that. When… when I told Cassian my name. But I didn’t _decide_ until she told me.”

Draven’s pause lasts so long, she almost asks if they’re finished.

And then he says, “Why will you stay?”

#

Cassian keeps an eye on the briefing room that Draven and Jyn occupy. Well, he does the best he can, between meetings and reading reports and working with the communications team.

He’s been working to track the Death Star. They know it left Jedha, and they have a good idea of when, but so far they’ve found out very little else.

This morning, he met with Draven, Galen, and their analysts to come up with a list of likely planets the Empire might want to threaten or target. (Despite his status with the Empire, Galen has very little to offer this discussion.) After running into Princess Leia this morning, the inclusion of Alderaan near the top of that list worries him. Alderaan has always striven to act discreetly, but they’ve been toeing the line for years. He suggests an evacuation plan for the top three planets on their list, and that assignment is passed along to someone else, out of his hands.

He’s got other work to focus on. With the cooperation of communications, he’s set up a network to monitor Alliance signals and Imperial signals, to look for any messages that might indicate Imperial movement. He prioritizes based on his list.

It’s taken hours, it’s taken all day, but if the Death Star retreated into the middle of nowhere, it could take weeks or even months before they see it again, depending on the Empire’s motives.

Sighing, he runs his hand through his hair and opens another report on his data pad. He’s two paragraphs in when the door opens.

All he can see, with her back to him, is the slump of her shoulders and the hair falling out of her bun. She says something to Draven, who’s still inside the room, before turning to face him.

She looks at him with tired, red-rimmed eyes.

And then she smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! It might be awhile before the next chapter is up, as it will probably be long (I may even break it into two chapters). I'm also considering writing Leia’s trip to get Obi-Wan as a separate one-shot because I really want to explore the what-if there and it won't fit into the arc of this story, even though the outcome will matter.


	11. Coruscant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW, it’s been awhile. I intended to finish this much faster, but sometimes life gets in the way, and sometimes I just am guilty of horrible procrastination. And _sometimes_ , I decide to write a slightly tangential one-shot that I want to post in between chapters.
> 
> I was going to post them all at once, but it’s been so long and I still have to edit things. With the completion of my Leia Goes to Tatooine fic, I do feel like I have enough geared up that I can start posting, giving myself time for the extensive edits I will inevitably inflict upon myself.
> 
> So, with that in mind, here is a tentative posting schedule:  
> \- Today, September 25: Chapter 11  
> \- October 5: Leia’s mission to Tatooine (draft complete; requires editing)  
> \- October 15: Chapter 12 (draft complete; requires editing)  
> \- October 25: Epilogue (unwritten)
> 
> & because it’s been ages… previously on Whatever I Do…
> 
> It’s been about a year since Jyn discovered Cassian Andor—the man she’d been sleeping with and definitely wasn’t developing feelings for—had personally investigated and exposed her identity as the daughter of an Imperial weapons scientist (a year since she’d fled).
> 
> It’s been about a week since her mother and Cassian came searching for her—and the message her father sent her about the super weapon he’d built and sabotaged (a week since she’d been forced to acknowledge long-buried feelings).
> 
> It’s been about a day since they returned to the rebel base and convinced the Alliance Council to Do Something—which apparently means send her father to the heart of the Empire, to testify in front of the Senate and push for disarmament (a day since she faced her own mistakes).
> 
> It’s been about a minute since Draven agreed to let her join the mission to escort her father to Coruscant.

 

 

#

Jyn spots Cassian standing across the way, his eyes already focused on her. She smiles at him, a newfound hope rising in her, and his returned grin seems just as new and shy and bright.

 _Maybe we can pull this off_ , she thinks.

Her feet steer her towards him before she can think about it; her hand grips his arm.

“I’m going with you,” she says.

His smile widens and he’s about to speak when Draven calls him.

“Captain Andor. A word.”

“Go on,” she says, tilting her head towards Draven. “I’ll see you later.”

He nods and they part ways, though the impression of his smile lingers in her mind. She navigates the base with a lightness she hasn’t felt in a long time.

 _Maybe papa will be okay,_ whispers every beat of her heart, and she marches to this rhythm specifically.

It leads her to the training compound.

She searches for Melshi, scanning the gymnasium, full of soldiers, former teammates and new recruits she doesn’t know. She hesitates as she watches them. They continue their exercises, oblivious to her presence: combat training, weightlifting, cardio, wrestling, boxing, sprinting.

“Erso!”

Several soldiers look up as she passes, but she doesn’t face them yet, doesn’t check to see if they are looks of recognition or rejection.

“Reporting for duty, sir,” she says, and despite a slight falter in the beat of her hope, she holds onto her smile from earlier.

“I got Draven’s message,” he says, nodding. “Ready to meet the team? You’ll recognize some, but we’ve got a few new recruits.”

She nods, and a tendril of worry takes root in her stomach, blooms into nervousness.

Melshi blows a whistle and the soldiers in combat training pause, disengage, and gather around him.

“Listen up,” he commands. “This is Sergeant Jyn Erso. She’ll be joining the Coruscant mission.”

She glances at the gathered soldiers; most gaze back bored or mildly curious. A few straighten when they see her, but she can’t read those faces, except for one. Kes nods and suppresses a grin.

“Alright. Show her the drills. Back to work.”

#

“Grab dinner with us,” Kes says later, as they file out of the training area.

A woman appears on her other side, a private she recognizes. “Li?” she says hesitantly. “Is it really you?”

Someone else appears on the other side of Kes. “Why’d you change your name?”

“Ke—er, someone said you were working with Saw Gerrera?” the first one says. “I saw his ship arrive the other day and—”

“Why’d you transfer?”

At this word, she glances at Kes, one eyebrow raised.

“Guys, chill,” he says. He turns to Jyn. “You really don’t have to tell us everything. We know you.” He casts a glance around the group.

“No, I…” Jyn hesitates and follows his glance. Men and women she’s fought with. They do have a right to know—some of it, at least. And she wants them to know her. After a year away from base, of searching for Saw and then, even when she found him, still feeling alone—she misses what it meant, to be a part of something. “I’m happy to tell you.”

She looks at the soldier next to Kes. “My name is Jyn.”

#

Very few words remain unsaid. Galen keeps his focus on Mon Mothma, although peripherally he can still see the gazes of the others. Rebel leaders and their staffers regard him with varying emotions, some more blatant than others: curiosity, distrust, skepticism, scorn, hate. Different looks that all stem from the same basic judgment. He is an enemy.

He understands those looks, very much. Knows he deserves them.

But he keeps his focus on Mothma. She, of all of them, manages her expression, wears a mask of neutrality, of professionalism.

He has told a string of people everything he can, to the best of his memory, constrained only by their lack of time. In turn, Mothma and her team have explained everything to expect on the upcoming mission, from senate procedures to departure and arrival plans.

They will be staying on Coruscant at the hospitality of Senator Pamlo, who, despite her initial misgivings in the council meeting, is eager to attempt a peaceful resolution.

“Galen,” Mothma says, in a tone indicating their discussion is coming to a close. “I speak on behalf of everyone when I offer my most sincere gratitude. Your sabotage of the Empire’s most devastating weapon, your defection, and your agreement to speak at the Senate have inspired a new hope for the rebellion and demonstrated the fruits of remarkable bravery.”

“It is the least I could do.”

The corner of her lip twitches just slightly. “It is a grave endeavor, what we ask of you. Captain Andor is one of the rebellion’s most accomplished soldiers and has orchestrated many victories. You will be in very safe hands. However, a journey to Coruscant, given your particular circumstances, is not without risk. In the undertaking of such a mission, please consider yourself one among heroes.”

She rises, indicating no further discussion.

“May the Force be with you.”

He still has not looked at her colleagues who sat beside her (though he wonders if her speech wasn’t meant more for them than for him). And still he keeps his eyes on her, watching, amazed, as she seems to float away.

#

Chirrut sits on a crate beside the ship, attuned to the movement of people around him. Someone who doesn’t know him or hasn’t heard of him—and by now, there aren’t many who haven’t heard the rumors of the Force-sensitive Jedha survivor—might first think him lazy or unhelpful. It doesn’t help that he wouldn’t immediately disabuse them of this perception.

In reality, he’s praying.

The Force shifts and pulls tightly all around the ship, dark and tense like a clenched fist, and he’s doing what little he can to unravel it. It’s not much; he’s not that adept at using the Force. But he starts by seeking out the source.

Several knots clump around him, and he listens. Bodhi jitters in the cockpit, chattering as he acquaints himself with the pilot he’ll be assisting. Jyn snaps out orders as she helps Lieutenant Melshi direct the other SpecForce soldiers around them. Galen listens quietly to one of Senator Pamlo’s assistants as she tries to give him some last-minute encouragement. Chirrut understands that he’s spent the last day or so in briefings and suspects that her well-meaning words are having the opposite effect.

This mission is about hope, about finding a way to save the galaxy, but the fear of Coruscant eclipses everything else.

He sighs and clutches his staff a little tighter.

That he’s made the right decision in following the Ersos, he now has no doubt. This morning, as Princess Leia departed, he had wondered. Jyn shined with the Force so brightly, but then, so did Leia, and in a different way.

It had been very tempting to take her offer and follow her to Tatooine, especially after the loss of NiJedha. It wouldn’t be much, it wouldn’t be the same, but meeting another Force sensitive might provide even the smallest sense of home. Whoever Leia is seeking must be impressively competent to have survived the Jedi purge and stayed hidden for so long. Chirrut wonders who he was and who he had been, before the Empire.

But he’ll have to wait until she returns.

Jyn needs him more than the princess does.

When Lyra, on behalf of Mon Mothma, asked him to serve as decoys for their Senate meeting, he happily obliged.

“But we didn’t actually see anything,” Baze had said. “We left Jedha before…”

“You won’t actually have to testify,” Lyra had explained. “We need to schedule your slot to speak in front of the Senate, but we don’t want to use Galen’s name. When we land on planet, you’ll be escorted as guests of the Senate, to deflect attention from Galen. When the time comes to speak, Galen will testify in your place.”

It seems reasonable enough to Chirrut, in the sense that at least now he has an official directive from the rebellion to join the mission. He doesn’t think they’d have been allowed otherwise, so having this kind of cover prevents him from having to sneak on board.

Baze, however, has not spoken to him since.

Baze does not approve of Chirrut’s sudden unceasing desire to go sightseeing across the galaxy.

Baze wants to be as far away from the rebellion and the Empire as possible.

Baze wants to keep Chirrut safe.

Chirrut leans into his staff as he moves off the crate. He goes to Galen first.

#

Lyra traces the ridges of the kyber crystal, leaving Chirrut and Galen behind to search the tarmac for her daughter.

She finds her around the other side of the ship, standing next to the ramp, gaze fixed on something Lyra can’t see until she comes closer.

Oh.

“All finished?” Lyra asks as she approaches.

Jyn twitches at the sudden sound of her mother’s voice, so close to her ear. She does not turn to look at her. Across the landing pad, Cassian nods along as Draven speaks.

“Almost,” Jyn says. “Kes has the rest covered.”

“Everything back in working order, then?” Lyra keeps her tone light, but she’s been worried about Jyn and her reintegration into the Pathfinders for days.

Jyn shrugs. “We’re fine. Kes talked to everyone, and I...” She clears her throat, but doesn’t continue.

A moment passes in silence. Lyra watches Jyn watching Cassian. They’ve certainly seemed to get on well enough since the return to Yavin 4. But she has to know. After Eadu, she has to be sure.

“And Cassian?”

“Also fine.” No hesitation. Jyn maintains her focus.

Lyra suspects her daughter was too quick to respond. “He took it very hard when you left.”

Jyn sighs and finally looks away from Cassian and Draven. “What is it, mama?”

“You're still struggling to trust him.”

Jyn crosses her arms. “No. That's not it.”

“Then what is it?” Lyra waits a beat, and in that time Jyn’s face scrunches just subtly enough that only a mother—familiar with her daughter’s stubbornness from the earliest rejection of vegetables and subsequent desire to toss them to the floor—could recognize it, before it smooths out into a blank mask. She says nothing.

“Jyn…” Lyra doesn’t want to scold her in public, but it has to be said. “This mission… I shouldn’t have to tell you. This mission is more important than any we’ve ever done. Not just because of papa, but because of what it might mean for the galaxy. This is our chance to achieve peace quickly, without greater blood shed. We can’t have any risks.”

“This isn't like Eadu. Cassian—we're fine.”

Lyra stares.

Jyn sighs and starts walking towards the ship.

“Jyn Erso!”

She stops. Pivots. Returns. “Here, Mama? Really?”

“No risks, Jyn.” That stubborn look from earlier—Lyra knows full well where it came from, and she uses it now.

Rolling her eyes, dropping her hands to her side, Jyn turns back to the ship. “In here.”

Lyra follows her daughter up the ramp into an alcove in the ship. They wait for two Pathfinders carrying a large crate between them to pass, and all the while Lyra fixes Jyn with her patient, I-can-wait-all-day stare.

For her part, Jyn wears a similar look of her own, though she looks past Lyra’s shoulder. Fingers pick at the fabric of her sleeve. Finally she sighs.

“I don’t really know him, do I? And he knows everything about me…”

It takes Lyra a moment to understand. And then it clicks. Of course. The report from a year ago, the assigned background check that started all of this: Cassian’s discovery of their false identities, Jyn’s leaving, Lyra’s provided intel regarding her husband...

“Jyn…” She restrains a mystified laugh. Doesn’t even know where to begin. “I doubt he knows _everything_ …”

“Anything he wouldn’t have known, Draven knows now…” She takes a breath. “He just… he dug into my past, he wrote about—he probably wrote an _analysis_ of it… it’s not…”

Lyra tilts her head to the side as she thinks. Her daughter feels exposed. Vulnerable. “He doesn’t know everything, Jyn.”

“He knows what matters.”

“And so do you.” Lyra pauses. “You know enough to love him.”

“No, that’s just it...” Jyn says, sounding tired, defeated. “I _don’t_ know enough to—to—and so I shouldn’t…” She deflates and leans against the wall, for lack of a chair, and closes her eyes.

“So you shouldn’t love him?”

“I don’t, mama. How could I?” Her voice is so small, so quiet, Lyra leans in to hear.

“What do you think it is that matters?” she asks. “The name of his home planet, the names of his parents? His age, his birthday? What school he went to?” She shakes her head. “His favorite color? Food? Song? What does it take for you to know someone?”

“Yes—sure—all those things!” It bursts out of her. So like her daughter. She’ll grip what burns, a grenade, an overheated blaster, a scorching baton that blisters under the sun, but she won’t touch what’s soft. She’ll leave it to collect in the corner, rags and shreds of her heart, just so she doesn’t have to feel. “Where he comes from matters. Who his parents are matters. When and how and why he joined the rebellion—it all _matters_ , those things all matter to me, they made me who I am and…”

Lyra reaches out and places her hand on Jyn’s shoulder. “And what _do_ you know about him?”

“I…” Her brow furrows and she looks away. But Lyra can see her eyes soften, that in her head, her daughter sees a string of moments she’s shared with him, she sees the reasons she already loves Cassian Andor.

“You know enough.”

When Jyn looks up at her, her eyes shine, with tears, with timid hope. “But if I do… _if_ I love him… then what happens on Coruscant, what happens if…” She gestures towards her mother, and only with their history together does Lyra know what she means. What happens if Cassian is taken or killed, like papa. What happens if she has to make a choice...

Lyra wraps her arms around her daughter and pulls her close. “The Force will protect us,” she says, muffled in her daughter’s hair. “It always has.”

“I couldn’t…”

“Trust your instincts.” As she says this, Lyra recognizes one of her own. She releases her daughter and unties her necklace.

Jyn looks up with wide eyes, as green as the grass on Lah’mu, fresh after a morning rain. “Mama, no.”

“It belongs to you, as it has since I first gifted it to you.”

She reaches around and fastens it. Jyn reaches up and traces the crystal, a habit she never lost.

“And Jyn… if you want to know more about him, just ask him.”

#

One day later, one day away from Coruscant, she’s still tossing her mother’s words around in her head. _Just ask him_. Simple advice.

Difficult to follow.

Each time she gathers the words on her tongue, ready to release the question, someone interrupts. Someone wants to clarify an element of the plan. Someone has a navigation question. Someone just decides to sit down next to them in the lounge. So many people ride with them: Jyn, Cassian, Lyra, Galen, Bodhi, Chirrut, Baze, Kes, the other pilot, Melshi, six Pathfinders, and two of Senator Pamlo’s assistants. And of course, there’s K-2SO.

She’d almost forgotten about him, during the days on Yavin 4; apparently Cassian had kept K-2 busy in the meantime. But now he was most conspicuously here and quite eager to ensure she was aware of it.

“Kay,” Cassian says, during one of her attempts to seek him out. “For the last time, ask Bodhi or maybe _the pilot of this ship_. I have no idea where the diagnostic panel is because this is _not my ship_.”

“They were not accommodating.”

Cassian sighs and sends an apologetic look towards Jyn. “Why do you even need to access the diagnostic panel?”

“I believe alterations could be made to improve…”

“Kay, the ship is fine.”

“My calculations indicate…”

“Kay.”

“Perhaps I can interest you in another set of calculations. Head trauma can result in—”

“Head trauma?” Jyn glances between K-2 and Cassian.

Now he rolls his eyes. “My judgment is fine, Kay.”

“Your prolonged association with a known threat to your well-being indicates otherwise.”

“Jyn is not a threat to my well-being.”

“Do you not recall her actions en route to Eadu?”

Jyn cringes. Cassian’s bruise faded days ago, but nothing fades from a droid’s memory. Unless they wipe it. She wonders what Cassian would say if she suggested as much. (Her calculations indicate: it would not go well.)

“Captain,” says a voice behind them. Jyn and Cassian both turn to face one of Pamlo’s aides. “We have a question regarding the landing procedure…”

Jyn can see it: the way the corners of his mouth tighten, a very slight twitch of his eyebrows.

“Of course,” he says, and for the second time within five minutes, he sends Jyn that apologetic look.

When she turns to leave, she finds Kay still staring down at her, and by chance, her eyes catch on the Imperial insignia on his chest. Scoffing, she hurries down the hall, the opposite direction Cassian had taken.

The crowded hallways drive her to alcoves, engine rooms, just to get away from it all.

Even Cassian.

He’s busy enough, she thinks, for her to add more to the weight of his thoughts. As Draven’s appointed man in charge, he’s responsible for the crew and making sure they’re ready for their landing on Coruscant: that they’ve checked their equipment, distributed the disguise uniforms, and know their roles and assignments.

And, of course, he’s responsible for team morale.

There’s no privacy, no time to ask personal questions. How many people know personal details about Cassian Andor? How will he feel if she asks him, even if they are alone, even if no one else lingers within earshot?

It’s just something that will have to wait.

And that’s fine.

She keeps busy, too. She checks her own equipment, helps Chirrut and Baze hide their weapons by repacking several crates, and even, bizarrely, assists K-2 in locating the diagnostic panel (assistance he begrudgingly accepts, since no one else will humor him).

After several hours, she runs out of tasks, finds herself wandering the sleek corridors, contemplating pretending to nap. The corridor curves and leads her back to the lounge, and she hovers in the archway.

Cassian sits at the table, face illuminated by the green glow of his datapad. The soldier sitting next to him says something Jyn can’t hear, and when he looks up, he spots Jyn and smiles. She returns her own, but when he turns to face the soldier, she retreats.

Retracing her steps, she settles in the sickbay, knowing no one else has any reason to be there, and flips open a cabinet and starts reviewing inventory.

“Jyn?”

She turns around, ready with a soft smile.

“Hey, Cassian.”

He glances at the counter, at the supplies she’s laid out. “Everything alright?”

“Of course.”

She looks back down at the counter, ignoring Cassian’s stare. He says nothing, but joins her, opening the cabinet next to her.

They work in silence.

She shouldn’t waste time like this, she thinks, in a voice that sounds like her mother’s. She’s spent too long being separated from people she—people she _loves_ (and even in her mind the word is a whisper). She shouldn’t waste time now.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watches him, the harsh light of the sickbay highlighting the circles under his eyes and the deep lines of his face. He looks so tired. And still she hesitates.

“What is it?” he asks, keeping his voice low.

When she doesn’t answer, he touches her shoulder, and she finally turns to look at him, his face inches from hers.

“Where are you from?” she blurts. She’d intended to ease into this conversation differently. But she forces herself to keep his gaze. She knows it’s ridiculous to ask these questions here and now. (There may not be another chance.)

He could roll his eyes, he could walk away, he could chastise her for her timing.

He does none of these. His expression shifts from concern to understanding.

“Fest,” he says.

 _Fest_ , she repeats in her mind. She’s never heard of it.

“What’s it like?”

“Cold. Covered in ice. I didn’t live there for long.”

She remembers another conversation, huddled close together in the cafeteria, on the night she left. _I’ve been fighting since I was six._

“Your parents?”

The brightness of his gaze shutters for a moment as he closes his eyes and murmurs their names. “Dead,” he adds.

She finds his hand with hers and shifts her head to rest against his.

“Family?”

His eyes open again to regard her; faintly she sees the brown of his irises flicker across her face. He does not answer this question.

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly, voice rising slightly. “I don’t mean to intrude, I…”

He quiets her with a brief kiss. “Jyn.” She can _feel_ the rumble in his chest, for all the softness of his voice. “Whatever you want to know, I’ll tell you.”

She nods and pulls away, aware of footsteps echoing down the hall.

Turning back to the task at hand, she asks another question, and he answers. They talk for a little while as they work, but they’ve both kept busy, and before long they’re too tired to pretend to work anymore.

They stumble back to the crew quarters and she pauses outside his door. As the captain of the mission, he’s given his own room; as another soldier on the special forces team, she’s given a bunk in a room with everyone else.

They won’t break protocol. Technically, on this mission, he is her supervisor.

“I know it wasn’t much...” he says. “But I promise, Jyn. Anything you want to know.”

“When we get home?”

He nods and looks around. The hall is empty; he breaks protocol. He leans close, tucks her bangs behind her ear, kisses the top of her forehead. “When we get home.”

#

Krennic taps his foot and drains the last of his tea.

Nothing.

He has found absolutely nothing, no obvious transmissions, no obvious allies, no code words—nothing to indicate that Galen Erso had ever conspired against the Empire.

And yet.

He drums his fingers on the table. Looks at the window at the beaches of Scarif.

And yet _he had_.

Years. He has known Galen Erso for years. In school. At work. He bloody _rescued him from prison_. He hoisted him to a position of glory, of honor—not necessarily aspirations of Erso’s, Krennic knows that, but surely he must understand, surely he ought to be grateful. If not for that, perhaps for the challenge. Galen Erso was quite possibly the most brilliant mind Krennic has ever worked with. Could he stand by and allow his friend’s intellect to rot away on a farm in a sodden, backwater planet?

To think, Krennic really rescued Galen Erso twice.

And this. This is the trouble Krennic reaps for his efforts, for his good deeds, for showing any care or interest in a friend. This is the trouble Krennic reaps for orchestrating a congregation of the most brilliant minds across the galaxy and granting them the prestige of building the most sublime creation in history.

This is the trouble Krennic reaps:

His weapon, his achievement, snatched by Tarkin’s seizing fingers, claimed beneath the shadow of the security breach.

His facility on Eadu, bombed and burned, blame laid at his own feet, even though Tarkin ordered the test, Tarkin exposed the capabilities of the battle station, Tarkin tipped their hand to the rebellion.

His neck, still sore, the feel of Vader’s invisible hand still present in his mind.

But he is alive. Vader left him alive. Vader summoned him, and Vader released him. He still has value to the Empire, and that value will be leveraged against Tarkin soon enough.

He just needs to discover the extent of Galen Erso’s betrayal.

It doesn’t seem possible that Erso would have the cunning to hide his tracks so well. Yet Krennic has poured over every communication, every memo, every offhand note and found nothing. Not even to the traitor pilot. Nothing written. Nothing recorded.

Though there were plenty of communications to sort through. Memos about adjustments, scheduling delays, revisions to the plans, recalculations. Just work, just thorough, devoted work.

He taps his fingers again and stares at the grains in his cup. Brown clumps, like wet dirt, like soil, like the mud a stormtrooper doll lays in, abandoned.

Lyra Erso.

Back from the dead?

He could have sworn he’d seen her, on the tarmac on Eadu, dodging flames, like a demon in hell. He’d told himself it was only a coincidence, just some rebel with brown hair and that stubborn face.

He has not told anyone about Galen’s defection. As far as anyone else knows, Galen died in the rebel bombing.

This is his biggest problem. Galen knows too much. And while he can’t have memorized data, or routes, or security protocols, and while he clearly hasn’t transmitted any of that information, he still knows too much. Far too much. And all of it pertains to the Death Star.

But so what? It’s not as though the rebellion could do anything to defend against it, let alone combat it. And Tarkin had already risked revelation when he fired upon Jedha. What does it matter if the rebellion knows about the Death Star’s existence? They are helpless against it. It is armed and fully operational.

_Unless he sabotaged it._

The thought creeps up on him, like it’s lingered at the back of his mind and only emerged now to pounce.

No. A single man could not have sabotaged the work of so many. There was too much oversight, too many protocols, too many procedures and approvals and signatures. It was ridiculous to even presume. How would he do it?

_He would begin by stalling._

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair and shoves the teacup away.

He turns back to his screen and skims one of the memos.

It’s too absurd to consider. A hidden weakness. Now he’s become paranoid, poking at phantoms.

No, no, this is the wrong line of thought. He ought to consider: what _would_ the rebellion have to gain by retrieving Galen from Eadu?

Legitimacy.

He stands.

What Tarkin did to Jedha—Vader has already admitted that the Empire intends to pass Jedha off as a mining disaster. While the rebellion may know or suspect the truth, no one would believe them, not without verifiable proof. Proof that Galen could provide.

He’s out the door and four steps past his attendant’s desk before he consciously acknowledges what his intuition already knows.

“Sir?” the attendant says.

“Prepare my shuttle. We’re heading to Coruscant.”

#

Cassian sits in the cockpit as they land, watching the bright light of Coruscant grow in the window, watching the dense light of the city planet split and divide into slightly smaller regions of light, in circles and lines, as they navigate to the surface.

“Have you been here before?” Jyn asks, from her seat to his left.

“Yes,” he says, and he adds that to his list of stories to tell her, _but not now_. Any other person, he thinks, would be less inclined to bear it. To forgive his invasion of her privacy, to face him wondering how much he knows, what secrets he’s discovered.

 _It’s not as much as you think_ , he’d wanted to tell her, but hadn’t. It wouldn’t have helped. He has added those items to his list, too; this is what I know, this is what I don’t know. Because what he knows only falls under the category of mission directives and achievements, and there’s so much more he doesn’t know that he wants to know.

He just hopes there will be time.

The ship docks at a terminal designated for senators and their assistants. They’re going to make a show of pretending to smuggle Chirrut and Baze into the facility while they actually smuggle Galen.

He unbuckles and heads towards the crew quarters. As he approaches the lounge, however, he finds Galen waiting.

“Captain. May I have a word?”

Cassian nods and leads him to a small alcove off the corridor, near the ramp.

“I need you to promise me something,” Galen says, the second they have at least the illusion of privacy.

Cassian waits. He seems to be making a lot of promises to the Ersos lately.

“Promise me you’ll protect jyn.”

He hesitates, watching Galen’s eyes, which dart away after extended scrutiny.

“I know… I've heard the stories about her. If something happens… I couldn't bear it if something happened to her if she's trying to save me.”

“Sir…” Cassian pauses. Tries to find Galen’s eyes again.

“Call me Galen.”

Cassian nods. “Your daughter is devoted to protecting the people she loves. And she’s good at it. I couldn’t stop her if I wanted to.” He hesitates. Galen hasn’t looked back at him yet. “It's one of the traits I love about her.”

Now Galen's head snaps up to face him; now Galen scrutinizes him. He bears it patiently.

It’s probably too much to admit, even worded precisely, in this contained way. Especially to her father, especially before he's admitted it to Jyn herself. He’s careful not to elaborate or go further; Cassian can’t remember a time he’s ever revealed a truth of this nature to anyone other than, perhaps, Kay, or Jyn. But it’s important for Galen to understand.

“Sir,” Cassian continues. “Galen. I will do whatever I can to help Jyn, to prevent her from getting hurt. But supporting her, helping her protect you, might be what I need to do to protect _her_. I’ve lost both my parents to this war. I won’t let Jyn lose hers after only just reuniting with them.”

Galen frowns. But his eyes seem thoughtful. “Whatever you do…”

“I’ll be there for her.”

Galen nods again. “Thank you.”

#

Senator Pamlo’s senior advisor stands at the edge of the platform, two more assistants waiting behind him. Lyra steps down the ramp, confident, assured, her worry and fear tucked away with the rest of her belongings, buried deep under layers, folded into her sense of purpose and need to get this right.

Two more assistants trail after her, and she meets the advisor halfway between the ramp and the door inside.

“Greetings and welcome to Coruscant,” the man says as she approaches. Lyra looks up into gray eyes shining in a dark, grim face. He keeps his expression polite, that of a cool ambassador, but Pamlo’s deputy knows what schemes he’s aiding.

“Yrec Synta,” he adds, even though of course they’ve already met on Yavin 4. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Ponta.”

She’s resumed her false identity, this time pretending to be a high-ranking official of Taris, here for an urgent meeting with her planet’s senator. It’s meant to be a thin disguise, one intended to occupy Imperial spies and give them the false impression they’ve uncovered a rebellion secret: that this woman is really Winni Hallik, a representative on Mothma’s behalf and escort of the key Jedhan witnesses. All of these layers of deception will hide the truth: the arrival of Galen Erso.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” she answers, glancing around. She leans in. “Is the dock secure?”

“Of course. We take the safety of our guests seriously. We have hired two guard units to escort you and your party.”

Lyra sighs and glances over her shoulder. Two units, as in, two suspected Imperial spies have tailed Synta to the dock. She brings her hand to her chin, as if thoughtful, and taps two fingers to her check. She hopes Cassian can see.

“Yes, thank you,” she finally says to Synta.

Even when she lived here, Lyra cared little for holodramas and theatre. Unfortunately that seems to be the main business of Coruscant, its sprawling cities filled with the glare of light and illusion, in both art and politics, and the rest of the mission from here will play out on the largest stage in the galaxy. She can only hope it follows their script.

Synta waves his hands and workers emerge from the shadows to help unpack the ship. Bodhi and the other pilot, Kes, Chirrut, Baze, and several other Pathfinders disembark, dressed in generic civilian clothes, in the fashion of Taris. This mission is all about lies and costumes, what they say and what they look like, elaborate performances. Two minutes in, and she’s already weary of it.

But the show continues.

She takes a deep breath as Synta leads her towards the welcome lounge inside. She’d wanted to be on that second team, but Cassian had insisted that she must remain with the first. As Mothma’s aide and representative, she needs to stay with Chirrut and Baze. She’s part of the bait.

“You will be followed. You will be seen. But that’s what we want,” Cassian had explained. “Let them work to catch glimpses of our secret witnesses, fix their curiosity on you. They will be so focused on you, Chirrut, and Baze, they’ll never see your husband.”

 _It’s for Galen_ , she reminds herself, as she follows Synta through the doors, wondering where the two Imperial spies are, wondering if Cassian has slipped into the shadows, into position yet, wondering how the rest of the week will go if their arrival is already this complicated. _It’s for Galen, and the galaxy._

#

Cassian watches from just inside the ramp as Lyra plays her part. Two fingers, two spies. Surprisingly few, but the rumors of their guests will only just be circulating now.

He’s the first to change into the worker uniform and the first out of Galen’s escort to slip off the ship. Carefully, he makes his way into the shadows as Chirrut, Baze, and their Pathfinder companions head inside.

Under the guise of hauling cargo, he scans the area. When it’s cleared, he follows the Guardians’ escort group inside, and sweeps that area, too. The hallways, the closets, the flight control room (a small station with room for two, currently only manned by one).

Lyra, Synta, and the rest of the group still linger in the welcome room, discussing travel to their living quarters, and here Cassian pauses and settles into position. It takes seven minutes and thirty-three seconds for them to finish arrangements, before they continue deeper into the facility.

A man dressed in a flight control uniform follows them down the hall.

Another empties the trash and follows five minutes later.

Still Cassian waits, until finally he does a final sweep of the interior, ending his circuit at the flight control room.

Before he goes in, he speaks into his commlink.

“All clear.”

“Affirmative,” Jyn says on the other end.

He makes idle chit chat with the flight control attendant still on duty, until he sees, through the window, that everyone left in their party has left the ship. He excuses himself and returns to the welcome foyer.

“Alright Kay,” Cassian says. “Your turn.”

“Are you aware,” Kay says, “that if you allowed me to serve functions more obviously suited to my programming, this wouldn’t be necessary?”

Cassian says nothing, just waits for Kay to finish downloading a map of the facility and any other information pertinent to navigating to the quarters Pamlo arranged for them.

When he’s done, he says: “Lead the way.”

#

The temple on Yavin 4 had been dark.

Chirrut had sensed it, a swirling malevolence behind the walls, and the slow, gradual easement of it as the rebellion nudged its way into the heart of the stone.

But this, Coruscant, is a different kind of darkness.

It’s thick and jagged and pulses from a building not too far from where they stay. It bleeds and cuts and jars his mind as he attempts to meditate, and when he gasps from the pain of it, Baze finally speaks to him.

“Chirrut?”

He shakes his head and rolls his shoulders and opens his eyes. He does not believe he will get any rest here. He rises and finds his way towards another tangle of tension in the Force.

“What do you see?” he asks Bodhi.

“There’s a building.”

Chirrut allows his expression to speak for him and Bodhi sighs.

“I don’t know—it’s, it’s huge. Kind of sticks out above everything. Five towers on top. It… I just sort of have a bad feeling about it.”

Chirrut traces his fingers on the glass of a window.

He waits for Baze’s presence to join them at the window, and when it does, he relaxes, leans a little against his staff. With Baze there next to him, the icy flow reverts past him, the pain subsides.

Another presence joins them.

“Out there. What is that?”

“The Imperial Palace.” Chirrut recognizes the voice of the advisor that led them to these quarters.

“Where the Emperor lives,” Chirrut says. “It’s been corrupted. What was it before?”

He fears he already knows the answer, but in this instance, he needs another to confirm it, to voice it.

“The Jedi Temple.”

Chirrut nods. He can only imagine what terrors might have occurred there, to leave such a hole in the Force. Baze takes his hand, and the deputy walks away, back towards Lyra on the couch. Distantly, he hears them make plans behind him.

“We shouldn’t have come here,” Baze murmurs, so only Chirrut and Bodhi can hear.

For the first time, Chirrut does not immediately disagree.

Perhaps Baze is right.

This shadow looms so vast in front of them, deeper and wider and darker than anything he’s ever experienced. The light the Ersos carry with them, the light that shines in their hearts, is no match for this force. They’ll drown. They’ll be swallowed up. He’ll be swallowed up. And Baze—

“But we’re here now,” Bodhi says.

Chirrut smiles, soft and gentle, and squeezes Baze’s hand.

“The kid is right,” Baze says. “Let’s do what we came for.”

He takes one more moment. Then he turns to face Synta and Lyra. “When do I make my debut?”

Behind him, he can practically hear Baze’s eyeroll.

#

Galen Erso wears an Imperial uniform again.

It is nothing—and everything—like his previous uniform. Cheaper fabric, sure, but just as stifling. Plainer style, yes, but a similar color scheme and cut to what he’s seen for the last fifteen years of his life. No insignia, but still emblematic of the same regime responsible for violence, oppression, and terror across the galaxy.

It itches. As he lifts and hauls cargo, steers it through the building, the uniform itches. As he follows Cassian deeper and deeper into this facility, what he understands to be some kind of apartment for senators, it itches. As he passes other Imperial officers and workers, it itches.

He wonders how the rebellion obtained all these uniforms. They could be stolen. They could have been sewn, made by some uniform department of the rebellion. After only several days, he’s unaware of their resources, and the simple fact that he _doesn’t know_ where this uniform came from worries him.

No one will know him here. It’s foolish to fear recognition, when he’s so far from where he’s been, when he’s disguised as he is, when he keeps his head tilted down towards the hover cart he pushes.

Their cover is that they’re delivering the cargo and luggage to the quarters Pamlo’s team arranged for Lyra. They’re taking service corridors; he wonders if they’ll arrive before or after her.

They pause at an elevator and Galen chances a glance around.

Cassian leads, posing as their supervisor, directing them down the halls, his expression a mask of bored superiority. Most of the group mimics the look of passive boredom, as if it goes with their uniforms. Even Jyn, who stands beside him, affects the same dull expression, but when she meets his eyes, he glimpses the fire burning there. She twitches the corner of her mouth briefly, then turns away as if she’d barely seen him, watching the lights flicker above the elevator doors.

The elevator seems to take awhile. A man approaches Cassian.

“Where are you taking these?” He eyes the cargo dubiously.

Cassian responds with the location of the quarters. Jyn shifts her weight and her expression, stirring vague curiosity in with the boredom, but the hair on Galen’s arms prickles.

The manager narrows his eyes and stares at Cassian. “Then why are you loitering here?”

Galen can feel his hands slide on the handle of the cart he’s pushed all the way from the dock to this point (this point where his identity will be revealed, where their plan will unravel, where everything will be for naught…)

“We’re waiting for the elevator, sir.”

The manager arches an eyebrow. “These elevators?”

“Yes, sir.”

The manager sighs. Again he glances at the cargo and his scrutiny seems to last forever. The crates are marked as diplomatic pouches, to avoid investigation, and again Galen wonders about the rebellion’s resources, their intel. Is the mark wrong?

“Diplomatic deliveries must be transported through Lifts M, N, and X,” the manager says.

“Yes. Of course. Sir.”

Cassian turns and gestures for them to follow, retracing their steps. Galen imagines he feels the manager’s eyes on them as they walk, burning laser holes in his shoulder, and then, at last, they turn a corner.

A collective sigh goes round the group.

#

Chirrut senses them before the doors open: Jyn’s bright light burns strong, determined, the silver lining to the dark cloud of her father. When the door opens, Lyra’s light beams and bounces, like rays of the sun after a storm. He hears her footsteps cross the room and the darkness surrounding Galen subsides, for the most part. For now.

His worry, his shame, gnaws at him, obscures an inner brightness. What would this man have become, during a more peaceful era? His wife and daughter burn when they fight, they shine and inspire, like matches lighting candle after candle. It wouldn't be accurate to say they thrive during war, but they carve out their respective niches and claim them.

Galen has tried, but his spirit wilts, like a flower clinging to concrete, dying. This mission will take much from him; it already has. The rebellion has pinned their hopes on the shoulders of one man. Will it be enough?

It’s time to find out.

They give Galen an hour to get settled, to shower, change, and regain his focus. Pamlo arrives during this time, and while they wait, she goes over talking points with Synta and Lyra. Cassian lingers nearby, offering an occasional suggestion, while Jyn paces by the window.

“What’s that building?” he hears her mutter, and when Baze answers, he feels her light flicker.

Lyra reminds Baze and Chirrut of their own story, what is basically a repurposed version of what Saw had seen, with all the benefits of Saw’s drama without his rage or fire, so out of place in this political setting. Lyra directs them to a spot on the couch next to Galen.

Then the meetings begin.

They start slow, plodding, meandering, as Lyra and Pamlo set the foundation of their arguments. They need supporters before they bring Galen to the floor of the Senate. They need enough backers to ensure they don’t get steamrolled out of the spotlight before even making their point.

And an hour turns into two, three, four. One after the other, blending, overlapping: senator after senator, each listening with diplomatic patience until it is their turn to ask questions.

Too many people pass through their quarters, carrying too many burdens of their own. Some listen politely, some do not want to believe. All are supposedly trustworthy, vetted by Cassian and Pamlo and Lyra, and Chirrut never senses outright antagonism, though there is plenty of fear.

What mostly surprises him is the sheer number of words. They flow and fade, rise and fall, meandering around the truths that Chirrut can see in their hearts. They talk and talk and talk and say nothing.

“You’ve said more of substance in the last hour than anyone has said all day,” Chirrut mutters to Baze, in between meetings.

“I only asked if you wanted any tea,” Baze says. Chirrut is quite sure that Baze ought to know him well enough by now; that incredulous tone is entirely uncalled for.

Hours turn into days that feel like weeks, months, seasons: like a drought on Jedha, like a winter without rain. Countless meetings. More politicians than Baze has the patience for. All of them have been locked away in this suite, most of which Chirrut hasn’t even explored, being couped up in the lounge area when he’s needed and herded away to the room they gave him and Baze when he’s not.

After two days of talking, persuading, negotiating, the time seems to have come.

The hearing is scheduled for tomorrow.

Chirrut isn’t present for this meeting, but when the appropriate official has left, he hears the news as the whole apartment collectively breathes a sigh of relief.

#

Jyn meets Cassian’s eyes across the room and smiles.

Tomorrow, at fourteen hundred, her father will testify.

And then they can get him off this planet.

She doesn’t like how the Emperor’s Palace seems to watch them. She’s already scoured the apartment, the controls, looking for some kind of curtain or shutter to block the window. She busies herself with this undertaking, having little better to do other than wait.

But now the waiting is almost over.

Synta pops a bottle of some fizzy alcoholic beverage popular on Coruscant, and they allow themselves a chance to relax. To unwind.

Bodhi, Chirrut, and Baze linger near the kitchen, huddled close, talking to each other. Since they landed on Coruscant, she’s found them together frequently and hovered back, not wanting to intrude. NiJedha is gone, and she can’t imagine what that must be like, can she?

Her gaze shifts to where her mother and father sit on the couch. She’s tempted to join them, but doesn’t.

Instead, Jyn watches, sipping her glass slowly, relieved yet not convinced the time for such reveries has come. After all, the phantom of Death Star still looms over them.

Cassian joins her at the window, still not shuttered to her liking, though not without several hours spent meddling with some of the wiring. For all the splendor of the suite Pamlo set them up in (four bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, a dining hall), its hardware leaves much to be desired. At this rate, she might even have to ask Kay to help.

“Almost,” Cassian says. He hovers so close, she could lean into him, she could breathe him in. She stays where she is though, her cool drink perspiring beneath her fingertips. He doesn’t even have a drink of his own.

“Got a plan to get us out of here?”

“Of course. You want to go over it?”

She sips her drink. It’s too sweet for her liking. “Now?”

He shrugs, but his eyes watch her expression intently. “If you would like.”

She smirks and sets down the remainder of her drink on the closest side table. “Let’s go.”

There’s a knock on the door.

Everyone freezes. They aren’t expecting anyone.

Jyn’s hand goes to her kyber crystal.

Synta gestures for quiet, then disappears into the front hall. Minutes tick by. Cassian leans closer, as if there was any space left between them. His fingers bump against hers, lightly, gentle. She shivers, not just from the touch, but from the something else it conveys.

Something is about to go wrong.

Synta appears in the archway that separates the living room from the front hall. He moves slowly, as though caught in molasses, his steps slow, his gaze slow as he looks around the room.

Everyone waits.

Finally he speaks.

“The Emperor has just dissolved the Senate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spend a lot of time overthinking things and researching, which usually means I get caught up in the wrong details. I hope this all made sense. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> PS i am on tumblr (@ callioope) if you ever want to say hi or see fic updates or w/e


	12. Coruscant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe I’m finally posting this chapter. There are scenes in this that I envisioned back in January, when this story was just a daydream. It took nine months and a major plot rewrite, but here it finally is. Gahh. (Part of me doesn’t want to let go of it quite yet. This is weird. I’m nervous. I hope it’s okay.)
> 
> In case you haven’t seen it yet, the tangent piece to this, no mercy mission this time, following Leia’s mission to Tatooine to retrieve Obi-Wan Kenobi, has been posted. It doesn’t impact this chapter, but it is somewhat pertinent to the Epilogue, scheduled to be posted Wednesday, October 25.

 

 

Jyn stares, unseeing.

_The Emperor has just dissolved the Senate._

How can a room so silent be so loud?

Something brushes against her wrist and by instinct she jerks away. At the same moment, chatter resumes, as if a spell has broken, and questions bombard Synta.

“How can he do that?”

“When did it happen?”

“What will they do with us now?”

“Are we safe here?”

She can’t even hear his answers.

She turns and finds Cassian’s eyes. His hand still hovers near hers, despite her flinching. She wants to speak, wants to ask a question of her own, but her heart won’t let go of it.

“We’ll find a way,” he promises. “It won’t be for nothing.”

She closes her eyes and this time when he tries to take her hand, she lets him, she squeezes back.

She only takes a moment for herself, then opens her eyes and tilts her head. “Come on. They need us.”

“...still try to meet,” her mother is saying, when Jyn sits next to her on the sofa. “We won’t be silenced. The galaxy has to know.”

“And what would you propose?” Pamlo shoots back, leaning forward, bracing herself against the back of the couch opposite Lyra. “Shall we continue these one-on-one meetings? We don’t have time for that now. Senators will rush to get off planet.”

“We hold our own Senate meeting then,” Lyra insists, and she’s met with several scornful gasps. “Before everyone leaves.”

“That’s too dangerous,” Pamlo says. Jyn remembers her words from the council meeting and thinks it’s probably a miracle they even had Pamlo’s help this far.

“She’s right, Lyra,” Cassian says, and Jyn whips her head around to look at him; he’s leaning against the sofa behind her. “It will be dangerous.”

“We made it this far,” Lyra snaps. Galen cringes next to her, puts a hand on her arm. “We have to get this message out. What else can we do?”

Cassian glances between the two Erso women. “There is nothing else.”

“Then you would do nothing?” Lyra says. “You would — ”

Still watching Cassian, Jyn raises a hand to quiet her mother. “Explain.”

“If you want to do this,” he says slowly, “you should understand the risks. For everyone.”

Lyra’s gaze is fierce. “We already know the risks.”

“Not just for us,” Cassian says, quietly, patiently. “For the senators. There’s no more diplomatic immunity. No vague protection for those who have supported the rebellion, however indirectly.” He pauses, holds Lyra’s gaze. “The Emperor might decide to round up any senators suspected to be sympathetic to the rebellion. They might have already started.”

Lyra shifts and looks back at Pamlo. She says nothing now, since Cassian’s endeavored to prove her point, and rather just stands, arms crossed, waiting.

“It won’t take long,” he continues. “And if everyone meets in one place—”

“They’ll be risking their lives,” Pamlo says.

Something twitches in Lyra’s expression. Galen squeezes her hand. Jyn knows what her mother is thinking. _We’re already risking_ our _lives._

But Melshi is the one to answer. “Can’t we find somewhere secure?”

Jyn sighs. “We can’t keep it secret.”

Cassian nods.

“Even assuming a lower attendance,” he says, “we can’t hide that many people in one place. Not here. The second we start inviting people, the clock starts ticking. We _will_ be interrupted. There’s no doubt about that. The Empire will find us.”

The room is quiet.

“We have to do something.” Jyn has never heard her mother sound so small, so defeated, so desperate.

“What if we record his testimony?” Bodhi offers, from some faraway corner. “We can create a vid and distribute it.”

Jyn thinks of the holo of her father she watched back on Jedha. It seems like a lifetime ago already, though it was only a few days. And he looks even worse now than he did in that recording.

Pamlo straightens. “That could work.”

“ _If_ enough people believe it,” Cassian says.

Jyn remembers the council meeting and digs her fingers into the fabric of the couch. People committed to fighting against the Empire had barely believed Galen when he was standing right in front of them, when he had others to corroborate his statements.

No one says anything.

Pamlo looks away. Bodhi deflates, but Cassian stares at him for a moment longer.

“A recording of the meeting, though…” he muses. Jyn looks up; there’s a light in his eye now. An idea. “That could work. It gives people a chance to ask questions.”

“But you just said the Empire will find us if we meet,” Pamlo says.

“Yes. They will.”

Jyn knows what he’s getting at, even though the rest of the room just stares at him blankly. She doesn’t explain, can’t voice it. Instead, she turns to face her father and wonders.

Her mother is more quiet and still than she’s been in the whole conversation.

“Yes,” Galen says. “Filming the meeting would be better. It will look less like propaganda, that way. And when the Empire comes…”

Someone gasps.

“You want to record them attacking us?” Pamlo asks. “Use us as bait?”

“That’s not exactly…” Cassian starts to say.

“Could we broadcast it?” Jyn asks, surprising herself.

He looks at her, startled, and shakes his head. “Not on Coruscant. We don’t have time to try to hack the network.”

“Then we need to make sure we protect that recording,” she says. “When the attack comes. We need someone who can record for as long as possible, wait until the last minute, and then smuggle the data chip off planet.”

“Do two recordings,” Melshi says. “One person stays long enough to film the attack starting, then uses the commotion to get out of there. The second stays as long as possible, filming as much as they can. If they don’t make it...”

“Then we’d still have the first video,” Jyn says.

Melshi nods.

“I’ll do it,” Jyn says. “I’ll film the second.”

Several people protest and offer to go instead, but it’s Kes, emerging from some corner of the room, whose voice rings out the clearest.

“You have to protect your father.”

Jyn feels Cassian’s hand on her shoulder before she can even think about how to respond to that.

“But Shara…” she finally says.

“...will understand.”

“You’re both nuts,” says another Pathfinder, the private who’d been the first to recognize her and say something. “After all you’ve both done? I’ll do it.”

Jyn stares at her, hard. This woman, named Jhi Goro, had only been with the Pathfinders for a few months before she left.

“You can’t — ”

“We can hash out these details later,” Cassian says. “We still need a location.”

“What do we need?” Synta asks. “Something a little further away from the Senate District? It might help delay for a little bit.”

“It can’t be too far,” Jyn adds. “Or we’ll risk being seen and followed.”

“That’s a risk either way,” Cassian says.

Jyn nods. “It needs to be somewhere close, but not too close. Somewhere that wouldn’t arouse suspicion if a lot of people were going there at once. Somewhere that can be defended, but would be easy to escape.”

“What about Ephesum Arena?”

Everyone looks at Synta.

“There’s a match tomorrow,” he says. “It’s not really close or far, but it might be a good cover for our attendance. There’s an adjacent hotel. We could use the ballroom there.”

Cassian hesitates. “That could work.”

“So just to be clear,” Pamlo says, after several moments of thoughtful silence, “you want to scramble together an unofficial Senate meeting in a hotel, film Galen’s public testimony, somehow escape the Empire’s inevitable crackdown, and distribute the recording across the galaxy?”

Someone laughs nervously.

“We’ve faced worse odds,” Melshi says. When multiple gazes watch him expectantly, he shrugs. “Nothing comes to mind, exactly, but we’ve faced worse.”

“The odds of success are — ”

“Quiet, Kay,” Cassian snaps.  

“It’s too late,” Pamlo says. “The Death Star is built. The Senate is dissolved. Hope is lost.”

Jyn stands. “It’s not lost. Not as long as people are still willing to fight.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Melshi says.

“We’re here for a diplomatic solution,” Pamlo says. “We can’t have that now.”

“We’re here,” Lyra says, rising and standing next to Jyn, “to reveal the truth about the Death Star.”

Pamlo scoffs. “Revealing the truth about such a weapon? When the galaxy can no longer do anything about it? You’ll just play into the Empire’s hands. They didn’t build such a device to keep it secret.”

“Then why _is_ it still a secret?” Lyra says. “ _How_ a secret like this is revealed is just as important. How do you think the Empire will unveil this?”

“They’ll use it to destroy something,” Galen says softly, still seated on the couch. His eyes dart nervously between his hands and his wife’s eyes. “Probably a whole planet, a known rebel sympathizer.”

“Messaging,” Lyra says, with a lingering look at her husband, before she pulls herself away, to look back at Pamlo. “Messaging is just as important a weapon. The Empire’s message is ‘fear and obey.’ That’s the whole point of the Death Star, that is its intended message. But what if _we_ controlled the dialogue?

She pauses and sweeps her gaze across the room, eyes glinting.

“If we reveal their secret first,” she says, “we give people a chance to stop it, whatever means necessary, before innocents lose their lives. This is our message: with such a weapon, no one is safe. But you _can_ do something about it.”

“Join us,” Jyn says. “Rebel now, before you lose your chance.”

“It gives our cause legitimacy,” Lyra says.

Pamlo holds her ground. “What you’re saying will lead to war.”

“War is inevitable,” Cassian says. “They built a weapon to destroy planets. They dissolved the Senate. The Empire isn’t interested in diplomacy.”

“Tynnra,” Lyra says, walking to the other side of the sofa, to stand on the same side as Pamlo. “The galaxy will be safer if it knows about the Death Star. We have to give them that much.”

Pamlo sighs and looks down at her hands.

“Synta, Melshi, Kay,” Cassian says. “Let’s pull up a map of the arena and the hotel. Lyra, Pamlo — start spreading the word.”

#

Since leaving Scarif, Krennic has attempted to monitor as many channels as he can for the mention of Galen Erso.

Instead, he hears about the Senate’s dissolution.

The news comes just as they exit hyperspace. He stares out at the dark shadow of Coruscant, at the circles and lines of bright orange light illuminating the surface like a giant tactical screen.

What will the rebellion do now?

Surely Galen is down there, somewhere, smuggled in by some rebellion-sympathetic senator (a traitor). What is he thinking? There was a time Krennic might have tried to guess, once, but after everything Galen’s done, after everything Galen’s given up, what’s the point?

Had he ever really known Galen at all?

He scoffs and looks away, looks back at the datapad he’d been monitoring.

Someone felt compelled enough that he’s at least _allowed_ the privilege of high security clearance. So he can read updates on the Death Star’s whereabouts, as Tarkin steers it about the galaxy.

His fist clenches.

Tarkin views the weapon as a tool, a means to an end, but the Death Star is more than that. It is a symbol. It is a statement. It is a monument. It is the progress of mankind.

What _would_ the galaxy do, if the Death Star and its capabilities were formally announced, not on the Emperor’s terms, but on the rebellion’s?

It wouldn’t be good.

Galen will still want to tell them, he thinks. He’ll still want to undermine the Empire as much as he can.

How would that manifest?

Krennic doesn’t know — he cannot know. But he can wait and watch. And at any sign of activity, Imperial or rebellion, he’ll be ready.

#

The night passes in a flurry of planning. Pamlo, Synta, and Lyra huddle in the lounge area, discussing their network, contacting senators, carefully orchestrating a chain of communication, starting with those they trust the most.

Cassian, Jyn, Melshi, and Bodhi take over the dining room, scanning several maps of the arena, hotel, and surrounding city, and marking checkpoints, guard posts, exits, alternate routes.

They call Chirrut and Baze over to integrate them into security detail, since they are no longer needed as decoys. They don’t need to file official Senate records anymore, don’t need to pretend to put Jedhan witnesses on the stand, and instead need to jump into Galen’s testimony as quickly as possible. (At the anticipation of a firefight, of something to do, of shooting down stormtroopers, Baze smiles — it’s the first time Cassian has seen him smile since … ever.)

Night melts into dawn.

Beside him, Jyn yawns. She tugs at his arm. “Come on,” she mumbles, leading him quietly towards a bedroom.

He follows without protest, without a word, and they curl up next to each other, a tangle of arms and legs, and fall asleep in seconds, before he can even take much comfort in her presence in his arms, the smell of her hair, the warmth of her beside him.

#

The final hour comes too soon.

They gather in the lounge, silent, solemn, subdued as they wait for the final go-ahead. Cassian takes a moment to gaze at the soldiers around him — dressed as civilians, tourists, senate workers, their weaponry stashed and hidden beneath their disguises. He takes a moment to memorize their faces, who they are, and what their expressions reveal. He takes a moment to make a quiet promise to them and to himself.

This isn’t something he’s ever done before, not exactly. There are ways to know people (a name, a rank, a profile) that can make a person a good leader, a competent and trusted commander. And then there are ways to _know_ people (their voice, their smile, their courage) that can make a person — remarkable.

He follows their collective gazes to Jyn.

The floor rises one step at the front, to create a sort of stage before the room funnels into the main hall. She stands, weight shifted to one foot, staring at Melshi with something between shy hesitation and stubborn frustration. She catches him staring and he nearly laughs at the look she gives him.

Instead he makes his way towards her.

“Cassian can do it,” she says, as he reaches her side. “He’s the appointed captain, after all.”

Melshi looks at Cassian, exasperated.

She’s faced this mission head on. He hasn’t told her about Coruscant, about the missions he spent here as Joreth Sward, but she doesn’t need to hear any of that to know how dangerous this place is.

The capital of the Empire.

The dangers go without saying.

Everyone in the room knows it, feels it; he can see it in the tension in their fists, nervous smiles that stiffen at the edges, restrained fidgets as people tap their feet once or twice before reining it in.

But none of this is what gives her pause.

Melshi wants her to speak. For morale.

He glances back out the soldiers seated before them, and they’re all so busy trying to be brave that they fail to hide how their attention hones in on this spot, hones in on Jyn.

“They’re not here for me,” he says.

“But I…” She clenches her fists and unclenches them. Looks up at Cassian and back down at the floor. “I’m not — “ She glances back at Melshi and frowns. “I’ve never — it’s not what I _do_.”

“Yes, it is,” says Melshi. “You have always inspired people. In your way.”

She focuses on him for a moment, as if he’s grown another head, and then her face sets into resolve. “In my way,” she repeats. When she glances back at the gathered rebels again, one or two who sit closest look up to meet her gaze quickly, expectantly.

She swallows and glances back at Cassian. He nods.

She takes a deep breath.

And steps forward.

Her teammates, her mother, her father, all look up at her, hesitant, hopeful.

“Saw Gerrera used to say,” she starts, “ _One fighter with a sharp stick and nothing left to lose can take the day._ ”

A few of them nod.

“They have no idea we’re here,” she says, glancing at her father just briefly, before turning back to look at the soldiers in front of her. Cassian can read it in her eyes: she still wonders how it is they can sit and listen to her, after she left them. If only she knew what she was — what effect she had on others. If only she could see her as he sees her.

Even with her self-doubt, the spark in her eyes burns.

“We’ll secure the hotel,” she continues. “My father will reveal the truth about the Empire’s secret. He’ll warn the galaxy about the Death Star. We’ll protect them, the senators brave enough to stay, while he testifies. And when the Empire finds us…” There’s no point in pretending _if_. “...we’ll fight back. If we can clear the hotel, we’ll take the next chance. And the next. On and on until we win, or the chances are spent.” She pauses. “Are you with me?”

“All the way,” Cassian says, unable to stay silent, the words falling from his lips.

He knows she wasn’t really asking him, but her comrades, the ones she feels she betrayed. He knows she wants to give them a chance to save themselves. He knows they won’t change their minds.

He knows he loves her.

Around him, the soldiers acknowledge their support, and he hears nothing beyond the mixing of soldiers’ spirits in unison. Jyn looks at him, and he wonders if she can read him, if she hears the words he didn’t say, if she hears the real meaning behind ‘all the way.’

He loves her.

He’s suspected it since they returned from Eadu. Maybe longer than that. Maybe since the night after Horuz. Maybe since the night they said goodbye on Dantooine. Maybe since the night he first met her in the hangar and she glared up at him and said _I’m here to fight the Empire_.

He loves her.

She stands before these soldiers, soldiers she’s known for years, soldiers who’ve forgiven her, soldiers who admire and respect her; she stands here, returned, having forgiven _herself_ , and she’s ready to fight no matter what the cost or the risk, only knowing it’s what’s needed to protect others. She stands here and inspires them.

He loves her.

It seems so obvious now. He wishes he’d realized it earlier. He wishes he hadn’t spent so much time trying to persuade himself that he didn’t. He wishes he could have told her, could have woken up next to her every day and told her, could have fallen asleep in her arms every night having told her.

Somehow he finds himself standing next to her, possibly closer than is appropriate in this public setting. The real words hover on the tip of his tongue, and she looks up at him, eyes wide and frozen. He swears, she twitches her head just a little to the side. As if to say _No. Not here. Not now._

So he swallows the words, and she smiles sadly, and she says, “Time to go, Captain.”

#

They split up into three groups and stagger their departure times.

At most, it should be a fifteen-minute ride.

No time at all, and plenty of time for something to go wrong.

Chirrut and Baze wear the worker uniforms from their arrival, disguised as much as possible, intended to look as though they just ended their shifts. Cassian fears their elaborate attempt to deflect attention from Galen to Chirrut and Baze might have worked too well, that they’ll be recognized and followed even if the Senate has been disbanded.

For that reason, Chirrut and Baze, along with Melshi and several other Pathfinders, depart in the first group, take a roundabout trip to the arena, and sidestep the hotel entirely. They won’t arrive at the ballroom until the last possible moment.

Lyra, Kes, and their escort of Pathfinders leave next, headed towards the arena.

That leaves Cassian, Galen, Jyn, and K-2 in the last transport.

Members of Pamlo’s staff mingle amongst them, making casual small talk, as they wait for the next taxi transport to arrive. Meanwhile, Cassian scours the dock area, trying to find any trace of spies on their tail.

Satisfied, he gestures for them to board the transport.

But a spy never stops looking, and as they fly, he continues to watch both the skies around them as well as the faces of his comrades.

Galen stares out the window, won’t meet anyone else’s gaze, instead distracted by the planet he once lived on. Cassian wonders where on Coruscant he lived.

Jyn watches the sky in front of them, her hand clutching her crystal. She seems to be willing the vehicle to fly faster, as if she can close the distance between them and their destination simply by staring at it.

“Kay,” he says quietly, and the droid’s head swivels to point his two yellow eyes at him. “What are the odds that we’re being followed?”

“It’s far more likely that curious entities would pursue the first and second transports,” K-2 replies. “Based on their occupants.”

Galen’s hand twitches at this, fingers curling inward, but otherwise he doesn’t move.

“The odds, Kay?”

“Thirty-one point seven percent.”

Cassian sighs. And keeps looking.

He spots nothing.

The ride is silent, smooth, uneventful.

#

Galen finds Lyra waiting for him in a small conference room adjacent to the ballroom where he will be speaking.

All thoughts of the speech, however, are temporarily nudged aside as he locates his wife and navigates his way to her. She squeezes his hand and smiles, something small and reassuring, but enough to chase away that droid’s empty voice, articulating the likelihood that Lyra’s transport would be followed.

“You made it,” he says, squeezing her hand back.

“Of course,” she says. Her smile fades; her eyes darken. “Galen,” she warns, “this is only the beginning.”

“I know,” he says. “I know.”

“How are Jyn and Cassian?” she asks, peering over his shoulder, even though she knows the plan, she knows that Jyn and Cassian are busy surveying and securing the perimeter.

“They seem calm,” he says. Jyn and Cassian don neutral masks as they work; he finds them unreadable, and it’s both reassuring and troubling.

“She did well,” Lyra says. “With her speech.”

He nods.

“You will, too,” she adds.

“I’m not — she gets that from you, you know. That… righteousness.”

“She’s a mix of both of us,” Lyra says.

He has no response for this, after all the years he’s been gone. They stand in silence, watching Pamlo’s aids work around them. He relishes the feel of her hand in his.

Aside from an occasional glance in their direction — yes, _we’re still here_ , Galen thinks, whenever he catches one — no one seems to pay them too much attention.

“How does the crowd look?” Lyra asks the closest aid.

She sighs. “It’s… fewer than we anticipated, even knowing it’d be small. But it will have to be enough.”

When Galen peeks out into the ballroom, he remembers just how large the Senate really is. “Fewer than anticipated” still qualifies as a sizable number, in his mind. He’s never spoken to so many, never even been in a room with that many, except maybe during his days at university. Back then, he’d only been a student in an audience of hundreds. Now he’s to speak in front of one.

“Just imagine you’re back on Yavin 4,” Lyra says, standing behind him at the door. “Imagine you’re giving your testimony there.”

He snorts and looks back at her. “And you think that was easier?”

She tilts her head to the side, shrugs, and puts her hand on his arm. “Galen. I know how hard it must have been, just to record that first message and send Bodhi to Jedha. And what you’re doing now...” Her eyes peer up into his and at least there is one person he still can read, who can still read him and know him. “Your daughter is proud of you.”

His breath hitches and she places her other hand on his cheek, guides his head down while she leans up and kisses him. He closes his eyes and breathes her in. His wife, a warrior, a mother.

“I love you,” she whispers.

“I love you, too.”

She pulls away, her hand sliding down his arm, sliding away.

“Time to save the galaxy, darling.”

 _If I didn’t already doom it_ , he thinks, but he appreciates her sentiment.

#

Jyn is glad she doesn’t have to hear her father speak.

Patrolling the halls outside the ballroom suits her better — even if she is stuck with K-2. She walks and watches, gets a feel for the area, memorizes routes. She reconciles the map in her head with what the corridors actually look like in person.

The arena-hotel complex had seemed straight-forward enough from their aerial maps. Three hotel towers plus the arena branch off a main hub, which itself might function as its own small city on any other planet. A massive atrium consumes most of this central tower, inside of which are smaller buildings, restaurants, merchants, salons, some kind of floating river and an accompanying waterfall, and walkways that crisscross the open space like branches.

(Nonsense, the splendor of Coruscant.)

From inside, the complex becomes a labyrinth. Just in one of the hotel towers alone, public corridors meander through five levels of ballrooms, all of varying sizes; service halls wind through the spaces between, twisting and turning through kitchens and coatrooms and storage.

There are plenty of ways to get lost — and she intends to use that to her advantage, if she has to.

Every couple of turns, when they reach a new floor or a new region of their tower, K-2 finds a terminal in the wall and hacks the video footage, so it loops a recording of the empty hall before they enter. He’s taken care of all the cameras around the ballroom, on several floors, down several corridors, specifically ones that follow the path from the main hub to the ballroom, where their senators will be walking in a careful trickle, slipping away from the crowd one by one, funneled to their secret gathering.

She wonders how long they can keep a fake Senate meeting invisible.

When they’ve finished with their designated preparations, she and K-2 navigate towards their final post: a door to the ballroom that leads to a balcony overlooking the stage.

On the other side of that door, Cassian should be setting his rifle in sniper mode, scoping the room, locating each door. Next to him, Jhi Goro, ultimately relegated to ‘first camera’ duty, should do the same.

“I won’t forgive you if anything happens to Cassian,” K-2 says, as they settle into position in a small alcove near the door.

She frowns. “I won’t let anything happen.”

“Statistically, your ability to protect both Cassian and Galen is significantly reduced, compared to your ability to protect one.”

“Did you calculate that all on your own?” she says, eyes fixed on the door. Between the wall and the K-2’s towering chassis, the shadows cover her sufficiently.

“Combining your history of harming Cassian — ”

She turns and glares up at his yellow eyes. “That wasn’t — ”

“ — and the increased probability that he will take greater risks when in your presence, the chances that Cassian will survive this encounter are…” the droid pauses. Something whirrs inside his head. “...unsatisfactory.”

“Kay…”

“I must ask you, Jyn Erso,” K-2 continues, “if you would consider focusing on protecting just one person.”

Her chest tightens.

She thinks of her mother. She thinks of Lah’mu.

“Since I will be allocating significant data function to the protection of Galen Erso, I would request — ”

“What?” Jyn blurts out, a little too loudly, but the hall remains empty.

“I will protect your father,” K-2 says, and she swears his tone is annoyed. “Cassian said I had to.”

“He did?”

“Your slowness to process this conversation is not reassuring.”

She looks away, stares down at the floor for a few moments, before taking a breath and resuming her watch over the door.

Soon — it could be minutes, it could be hours — both Cassian and her father will come through that door. Her mother will not. Her mother is stationed in a different area of the ballroom and will leave with Kes and Melshi.

She’s barely had any time with her family, and now she waits to see if it will break apart once more.

She is glad she doesn’t have to hear her father speak. She’d storm the stage and ferry him away, steal him for herself, before he said anything meaningful. She knows he’s doing what he must. She loves him for it.

So she waits by the door designated as his exit point and is ready.

“You have not responded to my request,” K-2 says. When she still does not answer, he adds, “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Shh!” she says.

#

Bodhi has done little else this entire trip except fret.

Sure, he was useful during the trip here. And he’ll be useful in the future, he knows that, too.

But he didn’t play a role in the talks that fill their first few days on Coruscant. And he barely played a role in the planning that fills their last day, except when it came to their exit strategy.

So he sat and waited. He was not allowed out of their suite — none of them were. He couldn’t lurk in the lounge if political guests were present.

Someone gave him a data pad, and K-2 helped him pull up maps of Coruscant. He studied them, studied the complicated, congested air traffic, trying to learn the skies, the obstacles, the buildings. Once their final plan became clear, he focused on the hotel, on the landing pads connected to it. He studied them, ranked them, analyzed them based on ease of exit and surrounding traffic, and shared this analysis with Cassian.

And then he went back to waiting.

This is what he does now, still.

He couldn’t park the ship on the landing pads without requiring a permit and an explanation, and they don’t want to draw attention to themselves. Instead, he sits nearby, at the closest public dock open for parking, and waits for a call to come in on his comm.

There’s time enough for thousands of thoughts, when a person has to wait, and his mind races through all of them.

What happens if the Empire kills them all before they even get a chance to call him?

What happens if they don’t all make it?

What happens if they make it, but he can’t fly them out fast enough? And they get shot down, or arrested, or interrogated?

What happens if someone recognizes him?

What happens if he fails?

(He is not the only ship, not the only means of escape — Pamlo’s staff has others, and Cassian had been very insistent about flexible planning in this aspect particularly. But as he sits, alone, in the cockpit, this fact is easy to forget.)

He must be brave, for Galen. He reminds himself of this over and over again. Galen told him he could make it right, and he’ll keep working to do that for as long as he breathes. That’s all he can do. Keep working. Keep trying. _Until the chances are spent._

_Or until we win._

Jyn does not know that he has learned about Bor Gullet. She does not know that he ran into one of Saw’s soldiers on Yavin 4, that they had snidely muttered something about how he was lucky the traitor-scientist’s daughter saved him from ‘Bor Gullet.’ She does not know that Chirrut had explained it to him, what Bor Gullet was, what Bor Gullet does.

She does not know how grateful he is to her.

She’d tried to intimidate him, when he’d first met her. And, well, she had succeeded. It didn’t make sense, this woman with Galen’s eyes, who refused to accept his message. Galen had been so patient, gentle, soft. This woman looked like him, and yet was none of those things — not at first.

But then she had seen to his wounds. Had made sure he was comfortable. And when they wanted to go back to Eadu, she’d _asked_ him. She’d stayed by his side the whole time they were in NiJedha, until they had to part. She’d reassured him. She’d trusted him. She’d relied on him.

He won’t let her down.

He won’t —

He sits up, banging his knee on the console.

From his viewpoint, he sees it. A whole retinue landing on the docks at the top of the central tower.

A row of stormtroopers marches out and hurries inside.

He grabs his comm.

#

Jyn hears Bodhi’s warning and tightens her grip on her blaster.

The troopers should not come to her door first. Not here, not on this far side of the ballroom, on the upper level.

But she stands ready. She has to order her feet still, so they don’t follow her heart and dart inside and rescue Papa before the attack even comes.

The Empire must fire first.

Other Pathfinders, plus Chirrut and Baze, hide in alcoves like hers, both inside and outside the ballroom.

As she waits: noise, commotion, shouts, something crashes and then:

Shots fire.

They’re far, on the other side of the ballroom.

This is what should happen: two Pathfinders will whisk her father to the side of the stage, to the stairs that lead up to Cassian’s balcony. Cassian will provide their cover. They’ll all emerge from this door that Jyn has stared at for the last — how long? Half an hour? An hour? Has it even been long enough? — and then they will sprint to the ship and get off this planet.

More shots. Screams. A door further down the hall clatters open.

The senators were supposed to know the risks. Lyra, Pamlo, Synta — that was their job, to make it clear. “There’s a high likelihood the Empire could interrupt our meeting,” she’d heard her mother say on a call. “But the information we have is vital to the safety of the galaxy.”

Anyone who attended this meeting should know.

She still feels guilty. Someone will die today. She hadn’t hesitated when Cassian had voiced his idea, not even when Pamlo had described the meeting as _bait_. That’s not exactly what it was; the intention was never to lure Imperials to them. But the dangers were there, and they took the risk anyways.

Her door bursts open. Jhi appears, looks at Jyn, and joins her in the little alcove she’s using as cover.

“How many?” Jyn asks, eyes flitting between her door and the hall.

“At least thirty ‘troopers. Possibly more outside. Five senators already arrested. Got it on record.” She pats the tape clipped into her side. The camera itself has likely already been tossed aside, too bulky to keep with them.

Papa is next, pushing open the door hesitantly, peering out, searching for her. Two other Pathfinders follow him.

One more. One more and then she can go.

He emerges from the ballroom; the open door releases shrieks from blasters and people.

His rifle has been reconfigured, the sniper components removed.

He looks at her. “Let’s go.”

Jyn leads, turning away from the other door further down the hall, where she’d watched the first senators escape the ballroom. Aside from those few, this corridor is eerily empty. She knows why; in her mind, she sees an aerial map of this section of the hotel.

They chose the far side of the ballroom for Galen’s exit, assuming the troopers would come from the main hub. They continue in that direction — away from the center — sneaking through service corridors, using smaller, shadowy ballrooms as shortcuts, heading towards a service elevator.

She only looks over her shoulder to check that they’re following; otherwise, she keeps her eyes focused in front of her, peering carefully around corners. Cassian lingers in the back of the group, keeping an eye on their trail, and the rest of them flank her father.

As quickly and as silently as they can, they weave their way through the conference wing of the hotel. This is the easy part.

They make it to the elevator bank. Tense and silent, they cram in together, and for the first time since she sprinted into action, Jyn looks at her father.

Pale, shaking from the adrenaline, he offers her a thin smile. “Almost there,” he says.

She takes his hand and squeezes it.

The elevator flies up. K-2 plugs into the terminal and overrides any other requests to stop. They’re going as high as this tower goes, and then they’ll get off, and walk across one of the skybridges from the hotel tower to the main hub.

And then they’ll head to the docks at the top.

Where stormtroopers await them.

#

When Krennic hears reports of stormtrooper activity at Ephesum, he’s halfway to his ship before his aides notice.

It’ll be crowded. It’ll be congested.

Fortunately, he’s already hired a decent pilot.

#

Kes whisks Lyra out of the ballroom before she even has a chance to see Galen disappear from the stage. More shots fire.

But it’s all behind her.

Kes leads her through twists and turns, through thin, dark hallways, through maintenance corridors. An elevator rockets them up up up to the top of the tower.

They’re fine; their trip is easy. But persistent worry gnaws at her stomach. _Let them be safe_ , she prays, _let them be there already_.

At the top of the elevator, they take the skybridge, race along the top balcony of the inner atrium, and search for a new set of elevators that lead to the docks.

They hide their blasters as they join the crowd. Up here, in the splendor of this atrium, in an entirely different tower, high above the ballrooms, no one has noticed what is happening in the lower level of the facility.

They’ll know soon enough.

When the exit the last elevator, the uppermost levels of the tower are thick with stormtroopers, and that has people noticing. Kes and Lyra wedge themselves through confused, panicking crowds as long as they can, before slipping down a back hall that leads to the docking area.

They follow a route supposedly charted by Baze and Chirrut, and they find themselves clear of most opponents. Any troopers that do find them face Kes, and Lyra isn’t bad with a blaster herself, not after years living with Saw Gerrera, of working with the rebellion. Their enemies don’t last long.

She spots their ship from a window two stories above it. They’ve overshot, since other routes were blocked by ‘troopers.

But down below, she sees Baze firing at stormtroopers running towards the ship. Chirrut, meanwhile, fires his bowcaster into the sky, towards another Imperial ship readying to land in the next dock over.

It’s while she’s following his shots that she spots it in the distance.

A familiar ship. One that haunts her dreams.

“We’re almost there,” Kes says over his shoulder. “Chirrut and Baze are securing the dock for us to board.”

She watches Orson Krennic’s ship land on the pad just behind them, the one they just passed.

Kes’ comm crackles. It’s Cassian, with their location. Kes responds, but she doesn’t hear.

Her breath halts.

She goes back.

#

The elevator gathers speed as they soar upwards; Jyn understands that K-2 is managing that somehow.

She gives her father’s hand another squeeze, then pushes her way to front, to join Cassian by the door. She meets his eyes, but says nothing.

The elevator starts to slow.

It stops eleven levels from the top.

The lights flicker.

Someone curses.

“We cannot ascend any further,” K-2 announces, after a moment. “I’ve locked the doors.”

Jyn glances at Cassian. Without a word, she flicks her baton out, hefts her blaster in her other hand. She nods.

Cassian looks around at the rest of the elevator, then says to K-2, “Open it.”

Jyn bursts into the hall, already swinging. She dances to the side, counts the ‘troopers as her truncheon flies. Since she’s sidestepped the elevator entrance, Cassian shoots down three ‘troopers; in seconds, the four remaining lay at her feet.

“Let’s _go_ ,” she says, already running forward.

She doesn’t look her father in the eyes. She’s too busy to hesitate, after all. She has no choice but to keep moving.

So now she doesn’t even glance back, merely listens to their boots clicking on the polished floor and pounding up the stairs. Signs direct them to the closest skybridge; they’re staggered every ten floors, and it’s sheer, blessed luck that the elevator stopped only one floor away from one.

She turns the corner, expecting to be blinded by the sunlight drifting in through the glass panels of the bridge.

Instead she finds more troopers blocking it.

“Kriffing hell,” she says, ducking back behind the corner as red bolts fire in her direction.

“How many?” Cassian asks, still watching their rear.

“Ten,” she says. “Maybe more.”

“Is there another way, Kay?” Cassian asks.

“There are other skybridges — ”

“Is there another way to access this one?”

K-2 pauses. “It will take four minutes and seventeen seconds to navigate through alternate corridors and double back around the other side.”

“We’ll distract them from here,” one of the Pathfinders says.

Jyn pauses to meet his eyes.

“Go!” he says.

“Lead the way,” Cassian says.

Two Pathfinders stay behind.

Cassian, Jyn, Galen, and Jhi follow K-2.

#

Lyra sprints.

She hears Kes shouting after her. She ignores him.

She retraces their steps, heading towards the dock where Krennic’s ship landed, but by the time she gets there, he’s already gone.

She doubles back before the stormtroopers guarding his ship spot her and heads to the elevator. She holsters her blaster and covers it with her jacket, and squeezes in to the crowd, much thinner than when they’d first come up, and mirrors their confused panic.

Now, when she enters the top level of the open atrium, she finds chaos.

People screaming and fleeing, even with no ‘troopers in sight. An alarm blares.

Where could he have gone?

A screen hangs from the top of the atrium. When they’d arrived, colorful ads had blinked cheerily at them.

Now, a newscaster reports on the terrorist attack currently happening at Ephesum Arena while bright blue text scrolls below, reinforcing the story with details molded into crisp facts: numbers of arrested senators, of estimated terrorists, of deaths.

She turns away from this to scan the walkways crisscrossing the vast space, but she can hardly see anything for all the jumbled ornaments and mess of architecture. There’s some kind of floating river, even a waterfall, and all kinds of plants decorating the interior, branches stretching over walkways, vines climbing railings, flowers sprouting above archways.

And then she spots a flash of white, a flowing cape.

She follows.

#

K-2’s path leads them to a hallway opposite of where they’d been. By the time they get there, the troopers have marched towards the decoys. The entrance onto the bridge is open.

As they run towards it, Jyn looks back.

Someone screams.

A ‘trooper falls.

“Come on, Jyn!” Cassian shouts.

“Stardust, let’s go.”

“ _One person_ ,” K-2 repeats, in her head.

She grips her blaster a little tighter, turns, and leads the way across the skybridge.

It’s entirely empty as they cross it. Jyn does not pause to admire the view, to look down at all the many feet below them. She continues forwards, blaster raised and ready for the stormtroopers that will inevitably wait on the other side.

They’re totally exposed.

They switch spots now. Cassian leads, his rifle raised. K-2 and Jhi flank her father. Jyn follows last, walking almost sideways to keep her eye on the corridor behind them.

But her comrades stay true. They remain unfollowed.

The second he can see the ‘troopers on the other end of the bridge, Cassian fires.

They’re all down when Jyn gets there.

She looks down at the white armor, gleaming in the sunlight, and then she glances back up at Cassian, K-2, and Jhi.

She looks down at the hall, but there’s no sign that the other Pathfinders are joining them.

She picks up one of the stormtroopers’ blasters and offers it to K-2. “You know how to use this?”

“Wait — ” Cassian starts.

“We need every blaster we can get,” she says without looking at him. She stays focused on K-2.

“Your behavior, Jyn Erso, is continually unexpected.”

They find the upper levels of the atrium almost deserted. As they race up escalators and across walkways, they occasionally run into frightened civilians, who shriek and turn the other way upon seeing them.

Makes things easier, Jyn thinks.

They’re about five levels from the top and one walkway from the central elevator that will take them to the docks when she hears the clatter of boots behind them.

Jyn starts shooting before she can even count them.

“Go!” she shouts to her father. “Kay — take him across to the elevators. Get out of here.”

She glances over her shoulder just once, to confirm that K-2 has obeyed, before taking cover behind an abandoned ice cream vendor. A little further back, finding another vendor cart, Jhi does the same.

Cassian joins her, and they pick off ‘troopers, one by one.

But they just seem to keep coming.

And then a grenade arches into the air.

And the walkway leading to the elevators explodes.

Someone screams — it’s Jyn, she’s screaming — and she doesn’t stop until she spots her father standing on the other side, obscured slightly by K-2’s hulking form and shoved up against the wall.

 _It’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright_ , she thinks. K-2 presses the button by the elevator.

Jyn eyes the damaged walkway, trying to peer through the smoke and flames.

“Galen!” someone shouts.

Even the drifting smoke seems to freeze, when she hears that voice.

And slowly the dark cloud parts, drifts upwards, and she sees it, him, the white cape, the man in white, and she doesn’t even know she’s moving until she feels restrained.

“Let me go,” she shouts, and Cassian’s arms only tighten around her, pull her down towards the floor. Red bolts blaze overhead.

“Where are you going to go?” he shouts above the noise.

“I can do it, I can make the jump,” she says, still eying the hole in the walkway.

“Jyn.”

“Don’t try to protect me,” she scoffs. She can break his hold, she can, but it might injure him.

“There’s another way,” he says softly. She stops struggling and he releases his grip. “Look.”

She follows his finger down, towards a twist of stairs that spiral to the floor below, to a pathway that leads to another bridge a little further away, but it still ultimately winds back towards the elevator bank.

Stupid kriffing Coruscanti architects, she thinks.

But it will do.

“I’ll cover you.”

She turns back to him, stares up into his eyes. Takes a deep breath.

Kriff.

She hadn’t promised K-2. She hadn’t. She hadn’t made a choice.

But _Krennic_ , that wasn’t anticipated.

“Jyn,” he says again.

She drops her baton and reaches up and pulls him down towards her and kisses him, breathes him in, the smell of sweat and blaster oil and smoke.

“I love you,” she exhales, when they part, her fingers curling in his hair.

He sighs, still holding her gaze, and she can see in his eyes that he understands her choice.

“I know,” he says. He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I love you.”

Her smile is small, curling up just one side of her mouth, subtle and hesitant.

“Go,” he says, tilting his head towards her father.

She picks up her baton as Cassian stands back up, leaning over the counter to shoot. After a moment, she ducks down and races towards the stairs.

#

Galen’s expression doesn’t change as Krennic approaches.

He is not surprised.

It seems fitting.

It seems like the proper end to things.

He says nothing, and Krennic stops about ten feet away.

“Droid,” Krennic says. “Where are you taking this prisoner?”

“This is a prisoner,” K-2 says.

Galen looks back at the droid towering above him and recalls Jyn’s introductory comments regarding the droid’s usefulness.

“Yes. Where are you taking him?”

Galen glances back towards the walkway, but the smoke obscures any trace of Jyn, Cassian, and Jhi.

“I am …  taking him … to imprison him … in prison.”

Galen looks back at Krennic, and the expression of disbelief twisting his features nearly makes him laugh.

Krennic, his old friend, his old colleague, turns back to Galen and sneers. “Do you find this amusing?” he drawls, impatient, raising a blaster towards Galen.

“No,” Galen answers, any trace of mirth gone, evaporated.

They had been friends, once. A very long time ago.

“I fired your weapon,” Krennic says.

“I know,” Galen says, “about Jedha City.”

“An entire planet will be next,” he continues. “You can’t stop it now. You can’t erase what we’ve created.”

“I know,” Galen says again. For the first time all day, his hands have stopped shaking.

Something flickers in Krennic’s eyes.

“You’re not protecting anyone by doing this. Your rebel friends will be destroyed soon enough.”

“You’ll never win.”

Now surprise claims them both, and in synchrony, they turn to face Lyra.

#

Jyn is down the stairs, through the hall, across the bridge, and climbing the second set of stairs up when she hears her mother’s voice.

She takes them two by two after that.

Just as she twists around the top, she spots them.

Her mother shoots.

And then she falls.

#

Cassian sees what Jyn does not.

From his cover behind the cart, he glances over his shoulder at the sound of a new voice.

He spots Lyra, stalking across some other crossway on the far side. Her blaster already points at Krennic.

And beyond, he sees death troopers following her _and she has no idea_. Or she doesn’t care.

He rises, forsaking his cover, because he knows above all else, he must help.

He doesn’t get very far.

Lyra fires.

The death troopers fire.

She’s too close to the edge; with so many blasters aimed towards her, the railing explodes.

She falls over the side.

#

There’s no wind in the atrium, but there was wind on Lah’mu.

It was cold and carried rain. It whipped her mother’s hair in her eyes as she stared out across the grass, towards the man in white and Papa.

Jyn has dreamt this many times: she has dreamt of Lah’mu, has dreamt of what really happened and has dreamt of what didn’t happen. She has dreamt of her mother turning back, leaving her behind, she has dreamt of her mother dying at the hands of Orson Krennic…

Shots fire past her and she looks back, sees K-2, blaster raised.

She follows the bolts as he fires, and just as she spots the death troopers, they spot her.

She shoots and charges towards them. Someone shouts; she does not hear it. Someone stops firing; she does not see it. Someone hits her; she does not feel the heat of the blast bolt searing her forearm.

What she hears is the thunk of her baton as it collides with her enemies.

What she sees is black armor and vulnerabilities to exploit.

What she feels is nothing.

Alone, ‘troopers at her feet, she looks around.

She stares at the gaping hole in the railing.

She won’t look, she can’t look —

“Jyn!” Cassian shouts.

She looks.

There’s a platform below, the platform she’d just used to cross over.

Cassian and Galen kneel beside her mother’s twisted body. Jhi stands a little behind them, blaster raised and eyes staring back at the way they came, but no ‘troopers appear. They must have cleared the area.

Jyn steps forward. Bits of duracrete crumble and float down to the floor below.

Cassian’s fingers press into her mother’s wrist.

“She’s alive,” he tells Galen. He looks up at Jyn, and she can read his unsaid words in his expression. _She’s alive — barely._

“We should leave immediately,” K-2 says. He’s down there too, by the stairs; she didn’t even notice him move.

Cassian looks down at Lyra’s unconscious body, but Jhi is already there, already bending down to lift her.

“Wait!” Cassian shouts.

Jhi freezes.

“Kay,” Cassian says.

K-2 stares down at her mother’s body. Jyn watches, immobile, from above.

“Scanning and analysis suggest a sixty-seven percent likelihood that her spine is intact,” K-2 says. “Moving is not advised.”

Cassian hesitates.

Jyn can’t speak.

“Can you carry her?” he asks K-2.

“It will decrease her odds of survival,” K-2 says.

“We don’t have a choice,” Cassian says. Beside him, Galen nods, slowly and silently. They each step back as K-2 approaches, leans down, and very delicately picks her up.

“She will require immediate medical attention,” K-2 says, as if this isn’t already obvious.

Jyn watches him return to the staircase. Galen follows, dazed, focused only on his wife.

Cassian is the last up the stairs, and it’s only as he reaches the top and nearly falls over that Jyn notices.

Blood, spreading across his left thigh, from a deep, dark blast wound.

“I’m alright,” he says when she looks. But he takes another step and falters again.

She catches him, drapes his arm across her shoulders, and keeps moving.

#

The path from the elevator to the landing pad is clear.

The dock is clear, but for Bodhi and his ship.

The skies are not.

From the cover of a small alcove outside the dock bay door, Chirrut and Baze fire overhead. A shot from Chirrut’s bowcaster hits a TIE fighter, sends it whirling into a larger ship.

They cross the tarmac as quickly as they can, Cassian grunting with every limp. K-2 reaches the ship first, and Jyn follows him to the medbay, still supporting Cassian.

Behind her, she hears Kes shouting, hears Chirrut and Baze clamber aboard, hears someone shouting orders. Dimly, she’s aware that as she passed through the ship, she’d passed other Pathfinders.

Distantly, the engine roars.

Bodhi takes them home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) I’m sorry.
> 
> I first conceived this story when I read this line in the Rogue One novelization:
>
>> The rebels hadn’t built the ziggurat. That much was obvious. But they’d made it their own, strung cables across ancient etchings and set flashing consoles like offerings on the slabs of alters. Melshi seemed unmoved; Jyn recalled her mother’s love of history with the faintest of pangs and banished the memory.
> 
> From that moment, I knew I had to write a Lyra Lives AU and that she needed to wind up at the Massassi Temple. Shortly after that, I knew that Lyra had to be the one to kill Krennic.
> 
> But there would still be consequences.
> 
> (2) Ephesum Arena is entirely made up, sort of based on a brief reading of the Protorion Polygon but also based on my experiences at casinos in Vegas and Atlantic City. Making things up is less time-consuming for me than doing research as I tend to get lost in Wookiepedia.
> 
> (3) I may need more space for denouement in the epilogue, so it may be divided into two chapters, but even if that happens, they will both be posted on October 25.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	13. Yavin 4

Jyn holds her mother’s hand.

She can remember doing this as a child, cramped in the bunker on Lah’mu, trying not to cry and failing.

Unlike that cave, this room is bright with sterile light, and instead of the hum of a lantern she listens to the beep of medical equipment, comforted by the steadiness of its rhythm.

Unlike that cave, this room has a bed, where her mother sleeps and which Jyn leans against, head propped on her free hand, fighting sleep herself.

Unlike that cave, her father is here.

He sits across from her, holding Lyra’s other hand, and they haven’t said a word to each other in the last several hours, not since Lyra returned from surgery.

For all of her life, Jyn has dreamed of her last moments on Lah’mu, of running through grassy hills, wet hair clinging to her face, damp air thick in her lungs. She has dreamed of what happened and what didn’t, that instead of asking her mother to clarify her father’s words, she says nothing, just watches as her mother unpacks their bag, as her mother shoves it into her arms, as her mother turns away. As her mother confronts Krennic and falls in the grass, leaving Jyn alone.

She squeezes her mother’s hand a little tighter.

Maybe it was always supposed to happen. Maybe she was always supposed to be alone, and the universe, the Force, is attempting to correct things now.

(Mama is alive, but mama hasn’t woken.)

Maybe everything else, everything in between, was a gift that she’d never really appreciated. A gift that she squandered.

“She used to read to me,” Jyn says quietly, without looking up at her father, without moving. “Anything she could find, anything she could get her hands on. Literature, history, chemistry.”

She feels her father’s gaze on her.

“I didn’t really care for it,” she admits, with a small shrug, still not looking at him. “Didn’t seem to be a point. It wouldn’t help me against the Empire or in a fight, it… wouldn’t help me stay alive.”

“Stardust,” her father says so quietly, it’s more like an exhale than a whisper.

“She always said I needed a proper education,” she says, and she has to bite down hard on her lip to prevent the tears from falling.

Her father clears his throat. “If I had followed the plan…”

Jyn looks up, startled. Her father quickly looks away, looks back at her mother’s face, won’t look Jyn in the eyes. She waits for him to explain because she doesn’t understand. Her father had done everything that had been required of him — it was Lyra who hadn’t followed the plan.

“...if I hadn’t gone with Krennic,” he finally continues.

Jyn scoffs, lets go of her mother’s hand, gets up and turns away, to stare at the wall.

If papa hadn’t stayed back to stall, if he had followed the plan and followed them to the bunker, would Krennic and his death troopers have caught them? If they hadn’t been caught, would Krennic have chased them across the galaxy anyways until he found them? If he never found them, would he still have built his weapon?

She crosses her arms.

The door slides open before either of them can say anything, but Jyn refuses to thank the Force, even for small blessings. She rubs her face before turning to face the door.

“We brought caf,” Cassian says, ambling in, leaning on his cane with one hand while he balances a tray with the other.

“Yes — and food,” Bodhi says, following him into the room.

Jyn blinks and shakes her bangs out of her eyes. They’ve brought two trays heaping with what seems to be every food option served in the cafeteria — more food than two people really would need.

She hurries over and takes Cassian’s tray, moving to set it down on a table by the bed. He’d taken a blaster shot to the leg when he’d emerged from cover to tend to her mother, and it was only because of Jhi that he hadn’t — that something worse hadn’t happened.

(She quickly banishes the memory of the flight from Coruscant: of the cramped medbay, of the bleeding in Cassian’s leg and how long she struggled to get it to stop, of K-2 reciting exasperated instructions while he settled her mother in the bed behind her, of her father fussing over his wife, getting in the way, of how she thought she’d be trapped in that moment forever.)

She can’t see his wound now, and the only sign of his injury is the cane and his limp and the way his jaw tightens when he isn’t careful about shifting his weight.

It’s just a blaster wound to the leg — a deep wound, yes, but a treatable wound.

Still. He’d only just been discharged, and he definitely shouldn’t be running errands.

She frowns at him, but there’s no shame in his return gaze, only that particular expression that he saves just for her.

The same expression that her father wears as he gazes at her mother.

(Lyra hasn’t been coherently conscious since they returned, hasn’t woken after any of the numerous surgeries or bacta immersions.

But she is alive.

And even K-2 had spouted optimistic statistics about her recovery.)

“You should be resting,” she says to Cassian.

“How is she?” he asks.

She shrugs. Crosses her arms again and looks away from his concern. But there aren’t really any good places to look in a hospital room.

“Have you slept?” he asks.

“Yea,” she says, gesturing vaguely towards the chair. She doesn’t need to see his frown to know it’s there.

“Thank you for checking on us,” Galen says. He’s facing the rest of the room now, but still clutches Lyra’s hand. “Any news?”

Cassian and Bodhi look at each other.

“Um, yes, actually,” Bodhi says. “The um — princess? Returned from Tatooine. With two Jedi Knights.”

Galen’s eyes widen. Jyn gazes over at her mother’s sleeping form, looks at her face, and thinks, _You hear that, mama? Two Jedi Knights._ What she doesn’t think, or at least so much as form into words in her head, but what she simply feels, is a desperation for her mother to wake again, to be able to actually tell her this news. _Two Jedi Knights in the Massassi Temple_. (And Chirrut, she doesn’t forget Chirrut. Yavin 4 has practically become a convention for Force sensitives. And no doubt mama would have some historical justification for this.)

“Skywalker isn’t a Jedi,” Cassian corrects, absently.

“But Chirrut said — ”

“What about the Death Star?” Galen asks.

Cassian and Bodhi look at each other again.

Cassian takes a deep breath, closes his eyes for a moment. “Located in the Alderaan system.”

“They found it?” Jyn clutches the back of her father’s chair.

Cassian nods.

“They’re preparing an assault now,” he adds, and for a third time, he glances at Bodhi. Jyn frowns.

“What is it?” she asks.

“I’m going,” Bodhi says. “I’m going to fly, I’m going to fight.”

Jyn clutches the back of her father’s chair even tighter, sees him doing the same to the armrest.

“Bodhi…” her father says.

“You said I could make it right,” Bodhi says quickly, glancing away, towards the floor, a blinking screen, an overhead light.

“You already have,” Galen says. “You don’t _need_ to, Bodhi. You don’t owe this to anyone.”

“I do,” he says, fidgeting with a loose thread on his cuff link. “I owe it to myself.” Finally he looks back, meets Galen’s eyes. “I want to do this.”

Cassian puts a hand on his shoulder and nods.

Jyn hesitates, finds herself mimicking this nod, and then rushes forward to embrace him. Startled, he flinches before returning her hug.

She hasn’t known him very long; she _almost_ saw him tortured (she saved him) and might never have known him at all. But he brought her father back to her. He got them off Coruscant.

“Thank you,” they both say, as they pull away from each other, and then, awkwardly, they both add, “For what?”

“Chirrut told me about Bor Gullet,” Bodhi explains.

She grimaces. “It was the least I could do.”

“It means a lot to me,” Bodhi says.

“And I shouldn’t have to explain what you did for me,” Jyn says, meaning it sincerely, and kindly, but it comes out hard, with a glare. She sighs and glances at her father.

“Take care, Bodhi,” Galen says, at last releasing Lyra’s hand so that he, too, can embrace Bodhi. “I never expected to see you again after you left Eadu,” he adds. He pauses, takes a breath. “I hope to see you again.”

Bodhi nods nervously. His commlink beeps from his belt. “I, uh, I have to get going. There’s a briefing.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Cassian says.

Bodhi actually laughs. “No, you won’t. Stay with your family. And get off that leg.”

Jyn wants to smirk at the surprise on Cassian’s face, but Bodhi’s managed to perplex her as well. She wonders, suddenly, about Bodhi’s family.

“See you around,” Bodhi says, still awkward, making his way to the door.

“Bodhi,” Jyn says, and he turns to face her. “May the Force be with you.”

He smiles. “And with you,” he responds.

And then he’s gone.

Jyn stares at the door, for just a second, then turns to Cassian to tell him to sit down already and get his weight off his leg.

But before she can say anything —

“He’ll be alright.”

— her mouth forgets words altogether, as she sucks in a sharp breath.

“Lyra,” her father says, in that same awed whisper he’d used for her nickname earlier. When she whirls around again, unbelieving, she sees he’s already rushed back to her side.

Her mother gazes back, tired and loving.

“Bodhi,” she says to Galen. Her voice is also sleepy. “He’ll be alright. You don’t need to worry.”

“Lyra,” he says again, this time his tone seems a little more solid, a little more present, and he continues, “How do you feel?”

She reaches out with her second hand, the one he’s not already holding, and touches his face. The corner of her mouth tips up a little. “You’re here, so good. Jyn?”

She moves immediately once beckoned, rushing back to the post she’d been keeping. “Here, Mama. I’m here.”

Lyra drops her hand from Galen’s face, reaches out for Jyn’s hand. “Good.” She glances beyond the edge of her bed, at Cassian. “And Cassian is okay, too.” She lets out a deep breath and closes her eyes. “What about — everyone else?”

“Chirrut and Baze are fine,” Jyn says. “They’re around here somewhere, they’re — ” The news she’d been so eager to tell her just minutes earlier lodges in her throat.

“There’s a Jedi here,” Galen says.

Eyes still closed, Lyra smile ticks up just a smidge. “That’s good. Bail’s friend?”

Galen and Jyn glance back at Cassian.

“Yes,” he says.

“You need to sit,” Jyn commands, remembering her last line of thought, before she’d been distracted.

Cassian makes his way towards the chair she’d been sitting in earlier, since she’s leaning against the bed now anyways, and she swears, before he glances away from her, she swears she sees the ghost of a smirk, the flicker of rolled eyes. But he follows her orders regardless.

“Is Krennic…?”

Whatever amusement might have been hiding in Cassian’s face vanishes altogether at that question.

Jyn sinks down onto the bed next to her mother. Galen’s face darkens.

“Yes,” Jyn says finally. “He’s gone.”

Lyra lets out a long, deep sigh.

Galen clears his throat, and finally Lyra’s eyes open, flashing something sharp towards him, and he stays silent.

The same question hovers on Jyn’s lips. ( _Why did you risk everything, why did you come back when you were safe?_ ) But Kes has already told Jyn what happened, from what he saw, and she can fill in the rest herself. Lyra saw Krennic’s ship and followed him back.

She would have done the same thing.

(Of course she would have.)

(Of course she understands.)

Cassian reaches out behind her; she feels his fingertips brush her arm. When she meets his eyes, she sees the same look she saw — when was it? Hours ago? Days ago? — when she’d visited his bed in the med bay, when she’d had to wander between two rooms. She’d unraveled everything to him then, her cheeks raw with tears and her heart exposed, as she worried and wondered if her mother would ever wake, how her mother could have done this, how she could have risked her life to come back when she’d been _safe_ and they were already there to confront Krennic and Jyn was only seconds behind her mother’s arrival, and she could have taken him herself, she could have —

She could have shared her mother’s fate.

Cassian’s fingers find hers; he interlocks their hands and squeezes softly.

“The Death Star?” Lyra says, and the heavy weight of it smashes through the thick silence.

“They found it,” Cassian says. “Orbiting Alderaan. They tracked it there after Princess Leia returned.”

Lyra nods. “And they’re planning the assault now?”

“Yes — that’s where Bodhi’s going,” Jyn says.

Lyra nods again. “But they haven’t used it?”

“Not yet,” Cassian says, and his fingers tighten around Jyn’s. “Lyra — there’s something else.”

All three Ersos turn to face him.

“The assault is taking a little bit of time to prepare,” he says, speaking slowly, almost as if he doesn’t believe it himself, “because, ah, base is getting a little crowded. The fleet alone has seen a whole squad’s worth of new recruits.”

The smile spreads across Lyra’s face like the soft glow of sunrise. “It worked,” she says.

Cassian smiles back. “It worked.”

#

Bodhi squeezes in next to Shara and another one of her pilot friends (he tries to think of her name, but it’s swallowed by other thoughts swirling in his head, thoughts of flying and lasers and a space station the size of a moon). The room is crowded, pilots and navigators and astromech units crammed up against each other, even as more file in. He can’t help it — he leans up and peers around, wondering if he can spot Chirrut’s new friend, but everyone looks the same in these orange flight suits.

He sits back down, stares at his hands, his knees.

His new uniform.

His heart beats a little faster and they haven’t even been briefed yet, although he mostly knows what they’ll probably say, at least the gist of it.

_One shot, and the whole thing goes down._

(He’s never fought in a battle before.)

His palms sweat and he wipes them on his new suit.

General Dodonna — that’s a name he remembers — starts his spiel, and Bodhi listens. The general talks about shields and mounted weaponry and firepower.

“Pardon me for asking, sir,” says someone standing near the front of the room (near the princess). “But what good are our _snub_ fighters going to be against _that_?”

“The Empire doesn’t consider a small, one-man fighter to be any threat,” Dodonna answers, “or they’d have a tighter defense.”

He pauses. “An analysis of the plans provided by the Death Star’s head engineer, who recently defected, has demonstrated a weakness in the battle station.”

(The Imperial defector has a name.)

(They all have names.)

( _“If a pilot can hit the exhaust port, the whole system will go down. Will be destroyed.”_ )

Shara elbows him, and he tunes back into the conversation in time to hear disbelief ripple through the crowd.

“Only a precise hit will set up a chain reaction,” Dodonna says. “The shaft is ray-shielded, so you’ll have to use proton torpedoes.”

“That’s impossible,” someone says from two rows behind Bodhi. His voice is loud and sharp, but Dodonna continues as if he hasn’t heard. “Even for a computer.”

Bodhi grips his knee, but he doesn’t say anything.

(He never did. Not before.)

“It’s not impossible,” comes another voice, from right next to the first. Bodhi glances over his shoulder and finally spots him. “I used to bull’s-eye womp-rats in my T-sixteen back home. They’re not much bigger than two meters.”

(Back home. Bodhi knows that’s Tatooine, he learned this when they were introduced. It’s another desert planet, and he can’t help but wonder if there’s some connection there: that Jedha is a desert, that Jedha is — _was_ , he reminds himself — a central fount of the Force.)

(If anyone can hit the target, it’s a Jedi.)

(But Skywalker is not a Jedi.)

He turns back to face the front.

Galen built the flaw on purpose. The exhaust port is there, a fuse waiting to be lit.

And he trusts Galen.

#

Jyn doesn’t think Draven will allow them into Command, but Cassian swipes his key card and no one stops them at the door, no one turns them around as she follows him through the room, even though he’s slower with his limp and they have to weave through the crowd between tactical screens.

Cassian takes them to a row of desks, where everyone sits hunched over their screens, pressing their headphones to their ears. At the far end of the aisle, Draven glances their way briefly, but he’s mid-conversation with someone else, and when he’s done, he disappears down another row.

“Go on ahead,” Cassian says near Jyn’s ear. “I’ll find you.”

She idles near the table, leaning against an unused console, itching to leave, to be with her family, anywhere but here. She glances back to find Cassian, and instead accidentally makes eye contact with Mon Mothma.

“Sergeant Erso.”

She looks a little tired, but otherwise calm and composed; she’s the only person Jyn’s ever known that can mask her emotions better than Cassian. (Even Draven wears a perpetual scowl.)

“How is Lyra?” she asks.

“She’s awake,” Jyn says, and despite everything, she can’t suppress a timid grin.

“That is good to hear,” Mothma says, and though her return smile is subdued and polite, Jyn thinks she sees something like relief and joy shine in the Councillor’s eyes. Or maybe it’s just a trick of the tactical screens. “We’re very grateful for her efforts to organize the recruitment.”

‘The recruitment,’ apparently, is how the rebellion is referring to their impromptu meeting on Coruscant.

Jyn swallows.

“This is the one you mentioned,” comes a soft, pleasant voice to her left.

She spots Princess Leia first, still wearing her white dress, though it seems a little dustier than usual, but the voice comes from a man standing on the other side of her. His beige and brown robes seem entirely out of place, surrounded by military uniforms. As her gaze falls on him, he strokes his beard.

“Yes,” Mothma answers. “Jyn Erso. Jyn, this is Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

He nods before she can say anything. “Master Îmwe was right. The Force flows brightly around you.”

 _This is the Jedi_ , Jyn thinks, and she ought to be more awed and impressed and reverent, perhaps, but all she can think about is her mother: how Lyra Erso should be the one standing with the leader of the rebellion and a princess and a Jedi Knight and how Jyn would rather be with her down in the medbay.

But her mother had insisted. “Go on, Jyn,” she’d said. “Go with Cassian. An Erso ought to be there. We’ll have time, later.”

(Later — a foreign word, a word that echoes in her head, that she’s still learning the meaning of in Cassian’s grip on her hand and the look in his eyes, in the hesitant hope on her father’s expression, in the wry smile that eventually takes over Lyra’s face, that says _How could you not trust me to be okay?_ )

(Later is a word too slippery to grasp during war time, that has evaded her for years; later is a word that prevented her from loving; later is a word she combats with “now,” a word more appreciated, a word that reminds her she must use the present to live, to love.)

(Later will take a long time to get used to.)

Cassian appears, sliding in between the princess and Jyn, and he looks like he’s about to say something.

“Are you alright?” the princess asks. “What’s wrong?”

Leia isn’t looking at Cassian or Jyn; on her other side, the Jedi braces himself against the table, one hand to his heart, the princess holding his shoulder as if he might faint.

For a long second, Jyn wonders stupidly what she might have done — was there some etiquette she broke? Was there something about _her_ that the Jedi found repulsive? — but this is absurd.

“I felt a great disturbance in the Force…” the Jedi says. “As if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced.”

Standing so close to Cassian, Jyn can feel him tense, see the tightness in his shoulders.

And when she sees that —

Jyn suddenly is glad that her mother and father are _not_ here.

She feels faint herself and leans against the table. “Cassian,” she says, not believing, not wanting to believe. He’s found her hand, has interlocked their two outside fingers, and his grip is tight.

Across the table, Draven is talking to Mothma.

Eyes still on the Jedi, Mothma nods gravely.

“What is it?” the princess asks, and her voice at once is a sharp and fragile thing.

 _She knows_ , Jyn thinks.

“They used the weapon,” Mothma says softly. “Alderaan is gone.”

All eyes are on the princess, and Jyn thinks this is wholely unfair, for her to be at the center of attention like this now.

But Leia raises her chin, eyes gleaming, and swallows.

Something creeps up Jyn’s spine, and she tries to focus on Cassian’s fingers in hers, tries to draw in his warmth so close to her, but then the thought is there: _my father killed her father_.

It’s not true, not directly.

The thought leaves her breathless all the same.

Leia only says three words.

“Are we ready?”

#

Bodhi stares at the X-Wing and wonders if he isn’t making a huge mistake.

“Hey, kid.”

He jumps, but it’s just Shara, smiling warmly at him. “You’ll be alright.”

“I’ve never…”

She claps him on the back. “Hey, I saw you in the simulator, remember?”

He shrugs. “That was a simulator — ”

“Too late now, isn’t it?” She steps away to continue towards her ship, and gestures to the next ship over. “Farm boy over here isn’t worried, is he? You’ve got more experience than him.”

Bodhi glances skeptically at Luke Skywalker, and he doesn’t think it’s really fair to compare anyone to this kid. Chirrut said he was brighter than Jyn. That he would be a Jedi.

And of course, Chirrut appears, as if summoned. Shara waves and continues down the hangar.

“The Force protects and guides all creatures,” he says.

Bodhi stares back, mute.

“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me,” Chirrut says. He frowns when Bodhi remains silent. “Repeat it.”

“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me?”

Now it is Chirrut’s turn to say nothing.

(He can make it right.)

“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me.” A little shaky, maybe.

Chirrut waits.

“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me.”

Chirrut nods.

“You’re a good pilot, Bodhi Rook,” Chirrut says. “All will be as the Force wills it.”

Bodhi hopes that will be enough. He mimics Chirrut’s nod, and then turns back to his ship.

(He defected. He flew back to Eadu. He flew to Coruscant. He flew back from Coruscant.)

(He can make it right.)

He slides into the cockpit, puts his helmet on, examines his readout.

There are warnings already, and he hasn’t even left the ground. Both his screen and his earpiece tell him the same thing:

The weapon has been used.

Alderaan no longer exists, or rather, exists in pieces and chunks, like asteroids, and it’s relevant in how they’ll need to fly when they leave hyperspace, but it’s relevant in another way, too.

Tonight, they fly knowing what they’re up against, knowing what fate might befall other planets.

(The inside of Bodhi’s X-Wing feels as cold as a Jedhan night.)

Tonight, they fly in vengeance.

(He can make it right.)

Tonight, they fly in the name of Alderaan, of Jedha, of the galaxy.

#

Jyn will mostly remember the Battle of Alderaan is snippets of sound, echoing in her head.

“Shara! Two coming in behind you!”

“Bodhi, I can’t shake ‘em!” “I got you!”

“Luke, you’ve turned off your targeting computer!”

And over everything, an eager shout:

“Now let’s blow this thing and go home!”

(And the feeling that comes with it, of Cassian’s hand more firmly entwined in hers, his arm so close they’re almost leaning against each other.)

Beneath these words, the cheers that follow are almost mute.

By the time Bodhi and Shara return, they’re already in the hangar: Jyn and Cassian and Kes and Chirrut and Baze. Galen appears, pushing Lyra in a hoverchair — and Jyn is not surprised, but she is delighted. A hint of color has returned to her mother’s cheeks, and her smile is bright, and when Bodhi slides down his ladder and plants his feet on the cool cement floor, he looks to Galen and Lyra first.

Galen envelopes him in a tight hug, and both are crying when they pull away, and Jyn answers the question she’d been wondering earlier: _they_ are Bodhi’s family now.

He steps away from Galen and leans down to hug Lyra, and after that everything blurs. Jyn and Cassian, Bodhi, Kes, Shara, a fumbling of bodies and hugs, of arms over shoulders and arms waving, and somewhere above generic words of joy, Shara shouts, “I knew you could do it!”

“I didn’t do anything,” Bodhi says, even though this is a lie, even though he covered several pilots, even though if it weren’t for him, fewer pilots would be landing around them, including Luke Skywalker, the boy who lit the fuse her father planted, and as if they’re all thinking the same thing, they look across the hangar for him.

Luke Skywalker is bright, even from this distance, even surrounded by a crowd.

They’ll thank him eventually.

(Later is a promise.)

For now, they have each other.


	14. Lah'mu

A girl runs across a field of dirt.

A ship rumbles above her.

Inside their house, her mother watches four different screens, sees the girl running and the ship soaring above her from several angles. The instrumentation beeps at her, but she knows the ship and who rides it.

The front door slides open.

“Mama!”

“We know,” she says. She takes a long look at her daughter: messy braids, dirt on her cheeks, embedded in her nails. “You know what to do,” she adds.

The girl nods and runs back to her bedroom.

“Where’s…” the mother starts, and then a boy trudges through the door, frowning and practically covered in mud. She has to cover her mouth and bite her tongue to suppress her laughter. “Walton! What happened?”

The boy frowns deeper. “ _I_ wanted to play with my chem set from grandpa!” he says, which probably means that this was Esper’s doing, and he doesn’t want to tell on his older sister.

Rolling her eyes at her son, Jyn gestures towards the second bathroom, one of several add-ons to the house since they started using it as a vacation home.

“Here, let me,” Lyra says, emerging from the hall, towel already in hand (she must have seen Esper).

Jyn takes the opportunity to go searching for Cassian, and unsurprisingly, she finds him in the office.

“They’re here,” she says, leaning against the door frame. He’s already turning off his data pad and setting it down. He stretches as he stands (and after over a decade of marriage, her eyes are allowed to linger).

“I figured,” he says, turning around. He catches her eyes — catches her looking — and raises his brows.

She shrugs and cocks a half-grin. “Maybe our next vacation should just be the two of us.”

“I do need to schedule a visit to Takodana,” he says, crossing the room.

“Maz found more strays?” Jyn asks, tilting her head up to look at him as he closes the distance.

He nods, frowning. “Might be more to the story, Leia wants me to dig a little deeper.”

“Another refugee crisis?”

He sighs, leans into her. “Maybe.”

It’s been over a decade since the war ended, and still they’re unraveling the Empire’s dirty work, locating displaced people across the galaxy, finding them homes, reintegrating them into society, and, when the Force is with them, reuniting them with loved ones. (It’s the whole mission of the agency Cassian founded, the Galactic High Commission for Refugees.)

(It’s his chance to rebuild a better universe.)

(He doesn’t tell her it started with her.)

(He doesn’t need to.)

The end of the war had somehow shocked Cassian, in that for the first time in his life, he didn’t have a plan. He’d never planned for _after_ , had only ever planned for an end, and when it finally comes, it takes months for him to sort it out.

He’d never envisioned a life without fighting.

But after the Battle of Jakku ends, there isn’t much fighting left to do.

He could chase down loose ends; his therapist prods him gently, asking if this is really what he _wants_ to do, and when he thinks about what he _wants_ , he thinks about Jyn.

Jyn has generally always known what she wants — at least somewhere in her mind, even if she won’t or can’t admit it.

She wants to be with the people she loves.

She wants a home.

It takes her awhile to finally tell him — she tries to respect his healing process, and maybe she has to go through her own, too — but she wants a family.

So he thinks about this, and he thinks about what a life might look like that’s dedicated to mending instead of destroying.

And Jyn needs help at the orphanage, trying to figure out if one of her kids still has family that’s alive.

So he helps.

And Kes has a friend searching for a brother.

So he helps.

And Leia wants to find her birth mother’s family.

So he helps.

He’s always been good at following leads.

And then it clicks.

Leia and Mothma help him establish his agency.

Jyn is very proud of this.

How much he cares — how he tries to make the galaxy better, how he always has — is something she loves about him.

She leans up and kisses him. “Alright,” she says.

#

The children run ahead, eager to greet their friends emerging from the Millennium Falcon.

Jyn sees Ben and Poe racing down the ramp, and already wonders if it was even worth it for Lyra to bother cleaning off Walton. In a few minutes, she knows, the children will run off to play “Jedi” or “Rebels,” and she won’t see them again until dinner.

But for now, her feet sink into familiar black soil. Her mother, her father, her husband walk at her side, and her friends wait ahead of her.

A long time ago, right here, a man broke apart her family. All she ever fought for was the chance to bring it back together, a chance to remember the joy of a child’s imagination, the comfort of a father’s embrace, the hope of a mother’s faith, a chance to build a future.

She once thought she’d never stop fighting.

(She once even thought she’d never _want_ to stop fighting.)

But she was never a rebel without a cause.

And sometimes it’s okay to be your own cause.

It’s okay to want the peace you fight for.

It’s okay to stop running.

It’s okay to move on.

It may take time, it will take work, but all of them — Cassian, and Galen, and Lyra, and Jyn — they forgive themselves.

And they live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Esper is short for Esperanza, which means hope. My headcanon is that it’s his grandmother’s name. (Esper pops up in another one of my stories, although that does not take place in this same universe.)
> 
> Walton is Galen’s middle name. I’m not a huge fan of the name, tbh, but I wanted them to name their son after Galen, and two Galens might be confusing.
> 
> Jyn working in an orphanage was 100% stolen from [theputterer](http://archiveofourown.org/users/theputterer/pseuds/theputterer)’s Cassian Andor Nonsense (I’m sorry & I hope you don’t mind?) and it is my favorite headcanon for postwar!Jyn’s career. 
> 
> I do have other thoughts about what happens to them after ANH, but they weren’t super relevant to the closure of this story, so I did not include them. (The main one being: Esper is Force-sensitive, and no, it does not go over well. Also — um, what the heck but do Luke and Leia ever meet the Naberries? I mean they totally should right? This is another plot thread I'd want to pursue.) I may write one-shots some other day, but for now — gosh, it’s nice to be done with this and move on. I’ll be doing NaNoWriMo next month and am torn between writing an original work and writing my Star Wars ‘A Song of Ice and Fire’ AU (aka Game of Thrones AU). But I do have other rebelcaptain ideas, so I imagine I’ll be back (I mean, the GoT AU obviously includes rebelcaptain). 
> 
> Oh — I’m probably going to go through and edit/proof some of the chapters (it helps to reread them months later, because wow holy typos batman). But no major changes, in case anyone sees future updates? I don’t know how AO3 does that.
> 
> Anyways, this has been fun. Thank you to everyone who commented, left a kudos, and read this — I hope you enjoyed it and I appreciate your support.


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